Comfortably Numb
by California Kat
Summary: This is an all-human story set mostly in New York. Eric & Sookie are two individuals incredibly beaten down & emotionally stilted due to the cruelty of their parents. Can they learn to love themselves & each other, even as outside forces try to rip them apart? Will their love survive, or will they be faced with a life in which they succumb–once more–to numbness?
1. Chapter 1: Harbinger

**Story Summary:** _**Comfortably Numb**_ is an all-human story set mostly in New York City. It follows the love story of Eric and Sookie, two individuals incredibly beaten down and emotionally stilted due to the cruelty of their parents. Can they learn to love themselves and each other, even as outside forces try to rip them apart?Will their love survive, or will they be faced with a life in which they succumb–once more–to numbness?

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognized characters, images, lines of dialogue, song titles, and plot lines are the sole property of their creators. I own only my own ideas and the characters I create; however, even those constructions would be impossible without the characters in _True Blood_ and the _Southern Vampire Mystery_ series. My work is not-for-profit and intended only for the enjoyment of the writer and readers. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Acknowledgments & Dedication:** I want to publicly thank two people who have been instrumental to this work. First, I always have to acknowledge the support of my own personal sounding board, Scorp (CBD33). She was the first to see the first draft of the first chapter, and her excitement and questions made me more excited. As always, she is both a push and a support-system to my work. And–despite distance and the fact that we only know each other via the Internet–she is a dear friend and confidant. This story is dedicated to you, Scorp, and to everyone who is fighting to overcome the pain (sometimes inadvertent) caused by parents. Second, I have to recognize and thank Sephrenia, banner maker, extraordinaire! Seph was the second person to read the draft of chapter one, and from there, she volunteered to make the story's banner, which you can see below! She has also made some wonderful character banners for the story, which I will be including as the characters are introduced in the story. She has the uncanny ability to get into my head and capture the mood I am trying to create, and she does this with very little information too! Her work and other pictures will be available on my WordPress site. I hope that you will check it out: californiakat1564 . wordpress . com (just take out the spaces).

**Inspiration:** This story was inspired–in part–by the haunting song, "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd.

* * *

**Comfortably Numb **

**Chapter 1: Harbinger**

_**January 12, 2013**_

"I can't stay in New York," she whispered desperately, needing him to understand. "I can't stay with you."

"I know," he answered, his tone despondent—accepting.

"I love you," she said even more quietly, almost just mouthing the words.

"I know," he said again.

In that moment, Sookie Stackhouse let the negative thoughts that she was feeling about herself stream from her lips. "I don't blame you for any of this, Eric. I'm a freak, just like your father said. I don't deserve you."

"Sookie," he tried to interrupt.

"No. It's true." She gestured down at her dress. "And even in this two thousand dollar dress, I'm plain compared to most of the women in here. Your father is right. I'm defective."

"No," he whispered.

She continued relentlessly. "You and I come from two different worlds. Appius is," she paused, her voice halting, "right; my only place in your world would be as your mistress—your kept woman."

"Sookie, I don't think that way," Eric insisted.

"I know," she said sadly. "But it's still the truth." She sighed. "You are so many things I could never be. You are going to be the head of Northman Publishing one day, and you . . . ," her voice trailed off before regaining a little strength. "And you need someone who can be what you need when you get there. We've been living in a bubble for these last months—a beautiful bubble, but a bubble nonetheless. We both knew going in that this wasn't going to last." She sighed resignedly. "It's time to stop pretending."

"Sookie," he started, "I'm not pretending. Not with you. _Never_."

She shook her head sadly. "I know that what we had—what we _have_—is real, Eric. But it's still all just make-believe. It's a fairy tale." She looked down at the floor. "Maybe I don't deserve to be happy; maybe my mother was right."

"Sookie," he said in a strangled whisper. "Don't you fucking say that! You don't deserve any of this."

"I don't think that I would be hurting this much if I didn't somehow deserve it," Sookie returned dejectedly. "My mother always told me that you reap what you sow. She warned me that I was defective—broken. But I couldn't help myself. I just—I just wanted to be with you."

"I want to be with you too," Eric returned, his face contorting a little with stress.

"As Appius just made clear," Sookie said, looking over Eric's shoulder at the Patriarch of the Northman family, who was staring back at her, "what you or I want is immaterial."

Her tone was so matter-of-fact that Eric just stood there looking at her, unable to say a single thing to make the situation better. He should have told her that it was _he_ who wasn't worthy of her. He should have told her—finally—that he loved her. He should have told her he'd been happier with her during their eight months together than with anyone else in his whole life. But those words wouldn't take away the sting of the ones she'd just "overheard" from his conversation with his father.

All he could do was to look at her with pleading eyes, but she was no longer meeting his gaze. Her blue eyes were focused on the floor in front of her.

* * *

Sookie felt like crying, but she was too numb for the tears to fall. And she was grateful for that—given the public nature of their talk. It hadn't escaped her notice that they were standing in front of Monet's _Four Trees_ where Eric had first spoken to her—exactly one year earlier. And she couldn't ignore the fact that his father's, his stepmother's, and Andre's eyes were trained on them—examining them as if they were animals in a zoo.

Not being able to weep, she almost laughed at the situation.

Neither Eric nor she was normal, but that fact was not going to be enough to keep them together. In fact, it demonstratively indicated just how far apart they were. He was rich and successful and handsome, seemingly on top of the world—the ideal upper-class New York bachelor.

By contrast, she barely made enough money to scrape by in New York, and she toiled as a copy editor for nine hours a day, five days a week just to do that. Coming from a lower middle-class Louisiana family, she certainly had no pedigree. And even her own family had rejected her because of her handicap—because she was a "freak." What little confidence she had been gaining throughout her time in New York now felt tenuous at best.

To Appius, it didn't matter that Eric and she had both been empty shells before they'd met. It didn't matter that they made each other stronger. And it certainly didn't matter that they'd given each other the two things that they'd always been missing before: happiness, hope.

No. To Appius Northman, none of that mattered in the least. Important to him were his reputation and his money. What he craved most were power and ultimate control, especially when wielded to the detriment of his firstborn son.

Sookie closed her eyes, determined not to fall apart—at least not yet. Not there.

She exhaled a shaky breath. No—her brand of "abnormal" was nothing like Eric Northman's. He was "abnormal" because society placed him _above_ others; she was "abnormal" because society didn't really even want her. Because of her little "gift" and her social class, she was the diametrical opposite of him.

She allowed resignation to fill her; it was safer than despair. In truth, she had been expecting this moment ever since Eric and she had started their relationship. After all, they'd both known all along that they were on borrowed time—that the great Appius Northman would never allow their relationship to continue once he found out about them. Sookie closed her eyes tightly to stop the tears. She and Eric had both been naïve when they lost sight of the inevitability of this moment. However, they'd been so happy that they had begun to imagine a future where they could be together.

They'd been fools.

* * *

Eric looked at Sookie's slumping shoulders; it seemed like she would sink into the polished wooden floor at any moment—like that was exactly where she wanted to be.

He wanted to join her there, but—as his father had so eloquently put it—he had a "job to do." Still, Eric would have refused Appius if it was just he and Sookie to be considered; however, other lives hung in the balance—too many lives.

He loved Sookie—loved her way too much to bring her further into his fucked up world where she would only meet with more pain. He knew how ruthless and empty that world could be—a den of vapid socialites and rabid social climbers.

A world where his father, the great Appius Northman, was a god that seemed to control everything.

There was nothing _real_ in that world, but he couldn't see a way to escape it now. And tonight, he had proven―with his inability to fight against his father's orders and threats and requirements of him―that he was complicit in that world, even if he didn't want to be.

No—he wasn't simply complicit. He was worse than his father! Eric _hated_ his world—almost as much as he now hated himself. But he was trapped in and by that world. He closed his eyes for a moment.

All he wanted to do was to reach out to Sookie, to raise her chin so that he could see her beautiful eyes, but he couldn't do it. He didn't know how to do it without hurting her more. He'd already broken the promises he'd made to her and to himself, but he couldn't think of a way around that now. Moreover, he didn't want her to think that he pitied her; if anything, he pitied himself.

Deep down, Eric knew that it was best to let Sookie go. After his talk with his father, how could he not be well aware that the best place for her was away from him? Far away.

Yes. To save Sookie from his father's plans for her, he had to let her go. In fact, he had to _help_ her to go.

But there was more to it than that. Eric also had to let Sookie go to save her from himself. In the end—_he_ was the one who had cowed to Appius Northman. _He_ was the one who didn't deserve her. What he did deserve was his own misery, and, without Sookie in his life, that torment stretched out before him like a prison sentence. Like his father, he would have only empty relationships and cut-throat business deals to look forward to.

That fate would be exactly what Appius Northman always wanted for him, but Eric didn't care about the fact that his father was winning. All he cared about was that which he was losing: the woman standing in front of him. His heart. His hopes. His dreams. All gone.

He had been living in a fantasy with Sookie Stackhouse for the last eight months, a fantasy where Sookie was the sun lighting his bleak existence. But he now realized that her light would be extinguished if she stayed with him. And he wouldn't have that. He could not! It was better to break her heart now—even as he ripped out his own. He just hoped her heart could mend. He knew that his own would not.

"Should I go now?" she half-asked and half-begged. Her voice was so quiet—quiet and without any kind of pitch or emotion. It was like an echo of something she was saying to herself. She continued, "I understand why you made the choice you made. And I know that you didn't intend to hurt me—that you are trying to protect me and Pam and your grandmother and everyone else. I also know that if it weren't for my," she paused, "_disability_ and my past, then this wouldn't even be happening. I wish I could be a normal girl, Eric. I wish I could be worthy of your world."

"You _are_ worth so much more than this world," Eric said passionately, finding his voice again at last.

She motioned across the room, toward where Appius was standing. He was looking at her with judgment in his eyes. Or was it amusement? She couldn't tell.

One quick glance at his lips as he spoke to his wife and his lover confirmed their low opinion of her once more. Quickly, Sookie moved her gaze back to the floor for fear that she would "overhear" more from them.

"I know _you_ believe in my worth, Eric," she said, still without emotion in her voice. "But I can 'hear' what's inside people—the things that they think no one else can hear." She took a deep breath. "The only worth a man like your father will ever see in me is in how he can use my 'disability' to find out other people's secrets. And I'd comply too; I'd do whatever he said so that he wouldn't hurt you. That's why I _have_ to go. I'm afraid that I would fall in line with his plans for me—and for us—if I stayed."

"Sookie," Eric said dejectedly.

She finally brought her eyes up to meet his. For Eric, it was a sweet agony to see her love and her pain mixing there.

"Inside of you, I see so many things that I love, Eric. You're kind; I knew that from your eyes since the first time we were standing together in this very spot."

Eric followed her gaze to the painting on the wall. "_The Four Trees_," he said.

"To answer your question, I _do_ like this painting, even though I'm not generally much of a Monet fan," she said, responding to the query he'd made the year before, a question she'd been too tongue-tied and nervous to answer at the time. "The trees are so straight and tall, but they still seem so," her voice trailed off.

"Lonely," he said, looking at the painting.

"I was going to say sad."

Sookie looked at Appius and then back at Eric. "Your father thinks that you are 'securing' me as an asset even now. What will you tell him when I leave here tonight?"

"That I _have_ secured you—that you've complied."

"And when I leave New York?"

Eric stepped a little closer to her. "That I don't blame you for going."

"He'll suspect you of helping me."

"But he'll find no proof."

"What if he threatens Pam and your grandmother and all the others again?"

"He _will_ threaten them," Eric said matter-of-factly. "But I'll claim ignorance about your disappearance nonetheless. And without proof of my involvement, I don't think he'll follow through with his threats as long as I do everything else he says."

Sookie shivered a little. "Do you think he'll try to find me?"

Eric nodded. "He'll try. But I'll make sure you get away without anyone knowing where you've gone—not even me. All my money can't be for nothing. However, it might take a little while for Bobby to get things set up so that you can leave cleanly."

"Cleanly," she repeated.

Eric nodded, knowing that their separation would be anything but clean.

"Until Bobby has things ready, you'll have to keep going into work; otherwise, Appius will suspect something is wrong. You'll have to keep pretending for just a little while longer, Sookie," he said penitently.

"He'll never accept my disappearing like that. He'll hurt you—punish you," she said, her voice filling with sudden emotion and her eyes with sudden tears.

"No. He'll see pain enough in me to satisfy even his appetite for my suffering," Eric replied softly, even as he caressed a strand of her golden hair behind her ear.

Sookie looked up at him fearfully. "Eric, what about Hunter and Remy?"

"I'll make sure that they're okay," he vowed. "But it's probably best if you don't contact them—or anyone else that you know."

"Then—I truly will be alone," she said quietly.

"Not alone," he responded passionately. "_Never_." His eyes told her a million things in that moment. And if she'd not known that he loved her before, she would have known it then. He was sacrificing his own freedom for the people he cared for and for _her_ freedom. Because he loved her.

"Just _lonely_—like the trees?" she asked, looking back at the painting.

"Yes," Eric said in a low, mournful voice. "Lonely."

They stood silent for a moment.

"I know you don't think you have any power over your father, Eric," Sookie said, still looking at the painting. "But I know you do. I think you have miles and miles of untapped power in you. You're a good man, Eric Northman. And you're nothing like Appius. _Nothing_! And no matter what life he traps you into, you will _stay_ a good man."

"What if I become just like him one day?" Eric asked with terror in his voice. "Right now, I feel powerless to stop anything that he wants from happening."

She turned to study him like he was one of the books she edited so carefully, painstakingly reading every word of him. "You won't."

"How do you know?" he asked almost frantically.

"I have wanted power over my own fate all my life," she said, her voice quiet and eerie. "I would do _a lot_ if I thought I could get it. And I know you feel the same way. But there are some things you wouldn't do."

"I'm not so sure."

"I'm sure," she said, now with only love in her eyes. "You _could_ have asked me to stay. You _could_ have tried to convince me that using my little 'gift' for Appius's benefit was a small price to pay for us being together. You _could_ have asked me to be your mistress, as your father suggested. You _could_ have offered to set me up in an apartment and even to father 'little defective, freakish bastards' with me. You _could_ have assumed that I would have accepted those things."

Eric almost growled at the reminder of the exact words his father had used. "I wanted to kill him, Sookie."

"Me too," she admitted. "But—like I said—there are some things that neither one of us would do to gain power over another. We both know—too well—what it feels like when it's taken away."

Eric nodded even as Sookie once again looked over his shoulder to see Appius, Sophie-Anne, and Andre. Eric didn't have to see the expression on her face to know that they were still looking at them. He could only imagine what they were saying.

"I need to go," she said as she looked back at him. The slight quivering of her lips told him that the poker face that she was usually so good at keeping on in public would soon fall away completely.

Eric understood well the magnitude of her words, and he was in agony. She would soon leave—and not just the museum either. She would leave Northman Publishing. She would leave New York. She would leave him.

Sookie had left her childhood home in Bon Temps because the pain of being there had been too much for her to endure. She'd trusted him with that pain and with her secrets, and now—because of him—she would be forced to leave her home again, this time in order to keep her freedom and her dignity.

But in his too-short time with her, Eric had come to understand something very important about Sookie Stackhouse: She was a survivor, a warrior. She was also stronger than he was.

So much stronger.

He knew that Sookie was going to save herself. Even then, he could tell that she was fighting against her mental demons; he could also tell that she was winning.

"One day, Sookie Stackhouse," he said in a low, intense voice, "you'll know that getting away from this place—from me—was the best thing that has ever happened to you. You'll be happy, Sookie," he said firmly, as if speaking a prayer into the universe.

He looked at the top of her head, which was once more lowered. He already had every single shade of gold in her hair memorized, but he used the moment to seal that memory into his mind forever, knowing that even a thousand years wouldn't have been long enough to spend loving her.

"Is there anything I need to do now?" Her eyes moved from the floor to his shoes. "Should I cry? Should I yell at you and make a scene? Do we need to put on a show for our," she paused, "_audience_?" She motioned almost imperceptibly toward Appius and his little cohort. "Appius told you to set me straight about my place, but I don't know exactly what that looks like."

Her voice was again emotionless, and, once more, Eric couldn't speak. He was an expert in acting like he was in control, but in this situation, he didn't have a clue about what to do.

"Do they need to see me hurting? Do they need to see me destroyed? Will that make them happy?" she asked bitterly.

"I don't know," he admitted in defeat. "I don't want to have to pretend—not even for a moment."

She looked up at him once more and graced him with a meek smile. "I'll pretend because I love you, Eric. I'll pretend because I trust you."

"I don't know how you can trust me," he responded, closing his eyes. "Because of my selfishness to have you, Appius found out about your ability. Because of me, you have to leave New York. Because of me," he trailed off.

"Because of you, I felt acceptance for the first time," she said softly.

"Sookie, I," he started, but then stopped.

"What do we do right now, Eric?" she asked softly. "Not tomorrow—but right now?"

"They will want confirmation that I've 'handled' you."

"What does that mean?" she asked. "What does that look like?"

"There are two choices," he said gloomily. "Either you can look like you're giving into Appius's rules for our lives and leave here forlorn, or you can look like you're resisting them and leave here angrily. Both scenarios would satisfy Appius's thirst for my pain."

"If I did the first?"

"You could go to our home, and I would follow in a couple of hours—_after_ I have satisfied my father by fulfilling my duty here."

"What would that duty include?"

Eric sighed. "Talking up clients. Acting like a spoiled millionaire. Flirting with women."

"Including Nora?"

He shook his head. "Not her. No matter what he fucking says."

"Would you have to sleep with one of the women to satisfy him?" she asked, her lower lip quivering again.

"No," he said quickly, his tone indicating the pain inflicted by her question. He looked at her earnestly. "I swore to you that as long as we were together, I would _never_ be with another. And I intend to keep that promise."

"And after I leave New York?"

"After you leave New York, I will try to make a deal with Isabel so that I can keep my promise to you, Sookie."

"Would your father agree to that?"

"If it involved marriage and kids, then yes," Eric said. "The original contract I brokered with Appius allows for the children to be adopted."

She took a deep breath as she thought about the implications of Eric's words. "And if I leave the museum angry?" she asked.

"You'd have to go to Brooklyn—to Amelia's. I'm sure Appius will have you followed, but he won't hurt you. He'll just make sure you don't try to leave town before I have a chance to manipulate you into complying," he said bitterly.

"Eric, I want all the time I can have with you. So I'm gonna go home."

"To our home?" he asked tentatively.

"Is that okay?"

"Yes," he answered quickly, even though he knew that every second with her would only add to his agony later on—once she left New York.

"Okay—then I just need to act like what? Sad and then accepting? I can do that," she smiled ruefully. "At least, that's how I really feel."

His voice cracked, "I wish. . . ."

"No," she responded immediately, "wishing isn't a _real_ thing. Don't do it," her voice broke but was stronger than she felt.

She chastised her own hypocrisy. In truth, she had wished for so many things regarding Eric and herself. Mostly—right then—she wished that they were both "normal."

Just Sookie. Just Eric. Just normal. And free.

"Wishing isn't a real thing," she repeated more quietly, again like an echo from somewhere deep within her. "Don't do it."

"What can I do?" He wanted to reach out for her. The mixture of resignation and strength flowing from her broke his heart. He too felt resigned to the fate that had been dealt for them, but he couldn't feel any strength.

Two large, hot tears flowed down her left cheek.

"I'll love you my whole life," she vowed. "I won't be able to help myself."

Eric's mind was suddenly ablaze with fear that he'd never see her again, and that fear fueled him. "You'll be waiting for me when I get home? You won't try to leave New York tonight?"

"I'll be waiting," she said in an angst-ridden tone. "But I _will_ have to go soon. If I stay, then none of what we feel right now will survive."

His relief was immediate. "I know. But tonight and tomorrow, Sookie. I'm living for those right now."

Sookie closed her eyes and squared her shoulders a little, "So am I. But for the first time in my life, I want to fight for _me_ too. I _need_ to fight for me. You taught me that. You taught me that I deserve to be happy. That's why I have to go," she looked at him almost pleadingly.

"I know," he said.

"How long will it take Bobby?" she asked, knowing that Eric would task his trusted friend with figuring out a way to help her escape from Appius's clutches.

"One week?" he requested with begging eyes.

"Okay," she responded. "One week."

His voice straining, he whispered, "I wish I could leave New York with you."

"Me too," she responded.

"But my father would hunt for us relentlessly if I did. And he'd destroy Pam and my grandmother and the others too—just to punish me."

"I know."

They stood there for a moment, silent and trying not to wish for things that could never be.

"I love you, Sookie," he whispered, finally saying out loud what he'd felt for a year.

The gravity of his words was immediate and immeasurable. From the time that Eric was five years old, Appius had been a master at taking away everything that he loved, so—out of fear—Eric had long ago stopped saying that he loved anything out loud.

Now that he was saying the words, it meant that he knew that she was already lost to him.

She could see the tears brimming in his eyes, though they refused to fall.

Sookie had imagined Eric telling her that he loved her a thousand times even though she had always known that those three little words—thrown around so cavalierly in the world—would be the harbinger of "good-bye."

Still—the words were the most beautiful she'd ever heard.

"I love you so goddamned much," he reiterated.

She smiled a little. "That's a very good thing." Her lips dipped into a frown. "I just wish love were enough to beat back the devil."

"I know," he said. "But for just one more week, I want to pretend that it is. At least it will be a _real_ pretense."

"One more week in our bubble?" she asked, her slight smile returning.

"One more," he said, glancing back at the painting next to them. He felt the distance between the trees profoundly.

Two more thick tears fell from Sookie's eyes.

"I'll see you at home, Eric" she said as she turned and walked away, not bothering to hide her tears anymore. They would help to create the 'right' effect anyway.

Sookie made herself keep walking. Her heart was breaking, but she was determined to play the part she had to play if she was to maintain her freedom.

As she passed out of the gallery door, she passed Pam and Nora walking into it. Nora simply glared at Sookie, but Pam's eyes held questions and sympathy. Neither of them tried to speak to Sookie, and she was glad about that as she walked all the way down the long hallway to the elevators, her borrowed $3,200.00 heels clacking on the floor. She pushed the button for the elevator that Eric and she had first gotten into a year before. It seemed appropriate that she would use that one.

She kept her eyes on her shoes as the elevator descended. She'd have to make sure Pam got them back before she left New York. As she'd done the year before, she walked alone to the coat-stand, but this year, Ben already had her coat and purse ready for her. She slipped on the cranberry coat, which had been a gift from Eric."

"Would you like for me to call your driver for you?" Ben asked softly.

"No thanks," she responded, a fake smile in place. "The driver will be waiting for Mr. Northman."

Ben nodded. He had known that something wasn't right when Sookie had left the control center of the MET earlier, but he hadn't wanted to ask for an explanation from the clearly upset woman.

"Milos will drive you then," Ben urged gently.

Sookie squeezed Ben's hand and gave him a little smile. "Thanks, Ben, but there's a reason why I need to take the subway tonight." Without letting him say another word, she quickly made her way to one of the front doors of the massive museum, glad that she didn't recognize either of the two guards at it.

The January air was cold, but Sookie didn't feel it. Thankful that she always carried her MetroCard since she didn't have enough cash for a taxi, she turned and headed toward the nearest subway station, which was only three blocks away.

About half a block from the museum, she subtly glanced over her shoulder. As expected, she was being followed by a large man that she'd seen before—Sigebert. Knowing that he was trailing her to make sure that she didn't try to escape Appius's clutches, she kept walking in the night, wishing that her new shadow would have at least had the decency to spring for cab fare.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ I hope that you liked chapter 1!

In this story, the characters are "all human" and have no supernatural gifts. Sookie's "disability" is not telepathy. What it is exactly will be revealed soon; meanwhile, feel free to speculate (there are clues in the chapter).

Also, I will be posting this story at the rate of about one chapter every 1 to 2 weeks. The first full draft is almost done and will probably be around 250,000 words total.

I generally classify my stories under the _True Blood_ category of fanfiction; however, to me it all comes down to who Eric's father/maker is as far as a determination of classification. Since Appius is his father in this story, I'm classifying it under _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. However, you may see characters from both the novels and the television show.

Remember to check out my wordpress site if you want to see pictures of the cast, etc. californiakat1564 . wordpress . com (just take out the spaces).

Again—I hope that you enjoy this story as much as I am enjoying the writing of it! And—if you have time—I love getting feedback.

Best,

CKat


	2. Chapter 2: Retreat

[A/N: Thanks for all of you who wrote reviews for or selected _Comfortably Numb_ as a favorite or a story to follow! Your support is awesome!

Just in case you forgot the date, the follow chapter takes place two years before the first one.]

* * *

**Chapter 2: Retreat**

_**January 15, 2011**_

As she always did, Sookie Stackhouse tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. She was good at not being noticed. After all, as a defense mechanism, she had been perfecting the art of being invisible for almost her entire life. And her looks, which were nondescript at first glance, didn't do much to make her stand out. Thankfully, most people's eyes didn't linger on her long enough to take a second look.

Unfortunately, Sookie's clothing _did_ make her stand out—but for all the wrong reasons.

She'd arrived in New York just ten days before with only one suitcase—a small one—to her name, and she was wearing the very best garment that had been in that suitcase; however, when she took in the people around her, she felt utterly inadequate. Other than herself, every woman at the Northman Publishing party looked to be dressed in garments that they'd picked straight off of the runways of European cities she'd never be able to afford to go to—let alone buy dresses in.

She knew exactly how much her own dress had cost her―nothing. It had been given to her six years before as a hand-me-down from Tara, who'd been her friend at the time. Of course, that was the week before Tara had gotten angry at Sookie at their graduation. She'd terminated their friendship in a very dramatic fashion: by screaming at her on Gran's porch, even as she dumped over the small graduation cake that Gran had baked for the girls.

Even before then, Tara hadn't been what most people would have called a consistent friend, but she'd been one of only two Sookie had had—the other being Tara's cousin, Lafayette, who was himself an outcast at their school since he'd been openly gay in a very conservative town.

Sookie sighed. At least, Tara hadn't asked for the dress back before she stormed off the porch, demanding that Lafayette take her home.

Sookie was thankful for the fact that Lafayette had remained her friend following the incident. He'd moved to California the summer before Sookie had gone to college, but they still exchanged a few emails and occasionally spoke on the phone, and Lafayette always made Sookie smile when they did talk. She looked forward to those conversations very much, but—afraid of being a burden to her busy friend—she never initiated them.

Lafayette had once told Sookie that every girl needed a little black dress―or, as he'd called it, an "LBD." He'd followed that up by telling her that he had several in his own closet. She smiled at the thought of her flamboyant friend, who earned his living as a Drag Queen in Los Angeles.

However, Sookie hadn't had many opportunities to use her LBD. She'd worn it on her first date with Bill Compton, but since he'd never taken her out again―preferring to stay in and watch movies or television―she'd not had an opportunity to wear it again for pleasure.

The second time she'd worn it had been less than two week before—to the funeral of Dr. Horus Dekker, her academic adviser at the University of Mississippi. He'd fallen victim to a drunk driver on Christmas Eve.

When Sookie was a freshman at Ole Miss, Dr. Dekker gave her a job as a copy editor for the _Daily Mississippian_, the college's prestigious newspaper. That job helped her to earn her undergraduate degree without having to take out student loans for her room and board. Moreover, he'd overlooked her peculiarity and had been instrumental in her getting into the graduate program at Ole Miss, even though she'd found it impossible to secure the requisite number of recommendation letters from other professors. It wasn't that she'd been a poor student—far from it. It was just that she hadn't been memorable to her teachers. But Dr. Dekker had argued on her behalf, and he'd even helped her to get an extra part-time job as a copy editor at the town newspaper in Oxford, Mississippi, so that she could afford to move off-campus.

Dr. Dekker's help had been surprising to Sookie, given the fact that they hadn't actually interacted that much. However, the professor oversaw the _Daily Mississippian_, and he had recognized the quality of her work. Most of the time, he even let her complete her work after normal business hours and on the weekends. It had been the perfect job for Sookie, made even more perfect because she was able to complete it alone. After she got her B.A. degree in English, Dr. Dekker arranged for her to have a scholarship paying for her M.A. degree—in exchange for Sookie copy editing the online version of the _Daily Mississippian_ until she was done with her course work. That job had been even better for Sookie, for she'd been able to do it all via the Internet.

Dr. Dekker's sudden death had shaken Sookie. Tara's hand-me-down black dress had been the only appropriate black garment she'd had, so she bought a pair of black flats, which were on sale for $5.99 at Payless Shoes, and went to pay her last respects to Dr. Dekker, even though she'd never exchanged more than three personal words with him.

Ironically, the dress that she was wearing had been appropriate for the funeral as well as for her first and only real date; however, it seemed grossly inadequate for the annual Northman Publishing party.

Sookie had been hired at Northman Publishing—or NP as it was referred to in the industry—only twelve days before. She'd gotten hired after only a phone interview with Sam Merlotte, who managed the copy editors at NP. She wanted to believe that it was her skill that had gotten her the job, but she knew it was Dr. Dekker who had been responsible.

Dr. Dekker and pity.

Sam Merlotte's _alma mater_ was the University of Mississippi too, and Horus Dekker had been his mentor fifteen years before. But Sookie didn't really care why Mr. Merlotte had hired her. All that she cared about was that his offering her a job had meant that she could leave Oxford, Mississippi behind.

As she pretended to study Monet's famous painting, _Haystacks_, she thought about the many ways her life had changed so quickly. A month before, she'd been a graduate student, balancing her time between working on her course papers, meeting deadlines for her copy editing jobs, and spending time with Bill. But on December 22, all that had changed when she got a visit from Lorena Krasiki. It was not a social call, and the more Lorena had said, the more Sookie's world had come crashing down.

Immediately after Lorena had gone, Sookie did something out of character for her: she reached out for help, emailing Dr. Dekker to see if it would be possible for her to finish her Master's Degree from somewhere else since she had only her Thesis left to write. Thankfully, she didn't have to quit her job at the _Daily Mississippian_. Since she'd finished her course work the week prior to her encounter with Lorena, she was no longer responsible for copy editing that publication.

She'd also asked Dr. Dekker if he had any contacts that might be looking to hire copy editors—preferably out of the Mississippi and Louisiana area. She'd said only that she needed to leave town for personal reasons, and—to her great relief—Dr. Dekker hadn't asked any questions.

On the contrary, he'd been supportive again, calling her only minutes after she'd sent the email. He told her that it wouldn't be a problem for her to write her Thesis from elsewhere. In fact, he reported, many students did that. All she would have to do was to submit her work by the May 1st deadline and return to Oxford in mid-May to defend her Thesis.

After that, things had moved very quickly. As it turned out, Dr. Dekker did have a job contact for her, Sam Merlotte with Northman Publishing in New York City. As an avid reader, Sookie knew of the company, of course, and the prospect of copy editing books instead of newspapers was an exciting one—even though the idea of moving to New York intimidated her. According to Dr. Dekker, Mr. Merlotte and he spoke each year around Christmas time, and they'd had their annual conversation just the evening before. Mr. Merlotte had lamented that his best copy editor had given his notice that day. And, apparently, Mr. Merlotte hated having to go through the process of interviewing people.

By the next day, Dr. Dekker had recommended Sookie to Mr. Merlotte, she had filled out an online application, and a phone interview had been set up between Sookie and Sam for after the Christmas holiday.

Sadly, Dr. Dekker had died only the day after that—on Christmas Eve when he'd been out doing some last-minute shopping for his children.

Sookie had gone to Dr. Dekker's funeral on December 27, the same day as her phone interview with Mr. Merlotte. As a close friend of Dr. Dekker, Mr. Merlotte had, of course, known about the professor's death, and the interview turned into a thirty minute conversation about their mentor—with Mr. Merlotte doing most of the talking.

However, by the end of the call, Sookie had a new job. Mr. Merlotte had even given her the contact information for one of his wife's friends, who had a room for rent in her Brooklyn home. One phone call later, and Sookie had a place to live.

Sookie packed her meager belongings quickly. Her apartment had come furnished, so she just had her suitcase—her one suitcase—with her sparse wardrobe and a couple of small, framed photos. Even her laptop had been borrowed from the university. Luckily, Gran had given her a small external hard drive the previous Christmas, and she already had all of her college papers and research saved on it. Her backpack was able to hold the few books she actually owned. In fact, it had taken Sookie longer to return all of the books that she had borrowed from both the college and city libraries than it had for her to pack everything she owned.

After packing, she called the newspaper in Oxford, and—since they had many other copy editors on staff and she was only part-time anyway—her boss didn't have a problem letting her go without notice. So on December 28, Sookie got on a bus from Oxford, Mississippi to Bon Temps, Louisiana, where she spent a little time with Gran. Two days later, she was on a plane to New York. She'd barely had a chance to familiarize herself with the subway system before beginning at Northman Publishing on Monday, January 3.

Barely in New York for a week, Sookie already loved the city—mostly because she could be completely anonymous in it. She could blend in easily.

Usually.

Looking around at the exquisitely dressed people around her, however, Sookie knew she didn't blend in. She was already working hard to avoid Arlene Fowler, one of her fellow copy editors. Arlene had seen her earlier and had practically sneered out loud upon taking a look at Sookie's dress. Sookie took a deep breath, wishing that her jersey dress didn't stand out like a sore thumb. It was faded from the many washings Tara had given it, and it was a bit loose as well, the fabric well-worn and having been made for comfort more than fashion. Plus, Tara and she had different proportions.

But it was all Sookie had, and Mr. Merlotte made it _very_ clear to her that the party was not optional, and she certainly didn't want to rock the boat any more than she already had. She had contemplated wearing one of the two suits that she wore to the office every day—suits that she'd purchased at the Goodwill store in Brooklyn the day before she'd started at NP. However, neither of those garments would have been appropriate for a cocktail party, and she was already made fun of by Arlene and the other women in her office since the suits had clearly seen better days. Of course, no one ever said anything within her earshot, but she could still "hear" them.

But her ticket to New York, her deposit for the room she was renting, and her MetroCard had taken almost every penny she had in her savings account. In fact, she wasn't exactly certain how she would be able to afford to eat until the first of February. Thankfully, the person from whom she'd rented her room seemed quite well off and was extremely generous, and Amelia was more than happy to let Sookie cook for them both using the ample food in her refrigerator. However, Amelia was gone a lot, and Sookie didn't feel right about taking any food when she wasn't also preparing it for her housemate. Luckily, generic cereal and Ramen noodles were cheap—even in New York—and there was a reasonably priced fruit stand down the street as well, and the owner sold the bruised fruit really cheap, so it was within her limited budget—barely. Of course, anything beyond those staples, including milk, would have to wait for her first real paycheck, but that check would be a lot more money than she was used to.

When she got that check, she would be able to afford her rent and meals that went well beyond Top Ramen. She'd even be able to get a mobile phone and to put aside a little money each month for a clothing budget. Luckily, a lap top had been provided as part of her job, and Amelia already had WiFi. However, Sookie knew better than to squander any money she got. Plus, she hoped that she would be able to send a little to Gran each month, and she was planning to put as much as she could into a savings account.

Sookie's musings about money were put to the side when she saw Pamela Northman enter the room. While Mr. Merlotte was the manager of the copy editors, Ms. Northman was the head of the whole editing department. Plus, she was one of the children of the company's owner, Appius Northman. Sookie breathed a sigh of relief as Ms. Northman looked around—as if searching for someone in particular—and then turned and left the gallery Sookie was in.

Sookie neither wanted to know nor did she care about the inner dynamics of Northman Publishing beyond her own job, but it was impossible to miss the fact that the gossip in the office swirled around Appius Northman and his children, three of whom worked at the huge publishing house. While Pam was the manager of the editing department, Nora Gainesborough, Appius's stepdaughter, was the CFO of the company. With her little "handicap," Sookie had heard that Pamela Northman—or Pam as she was called by Sam—was sort of like Miranda Priestly from _The Devil Loves Prada_; however, it seemed that Nora was more like the devil himself.

According to the main gossipers in Sookie's department—who included Arlene, Dawn Green, and Maudette Pickens—Nora was apt to yell at people in her department for no reason whatsoever and had fired quite a few of her staff during her time at Northman Publishing.

However, the main gossip in the company was centered on Appius's eldest son, Eric Northman. Sookie had yet to see Eric since the copy editors were relegated to one of the lower floors in Northman Tower, but—using her "quirk"—she'd certainly picked up quite a bit of information on him. It was said that he was handsome; "Adonis" was the word most often used to describe him. Confusingly, he was called both "aloof" and "charming," as well as "haughty" and "congenial." And, apparently, he was _quite_ the lady's man. In fact, Dawn liked to crow about the fact that she'd experienced the great Eric Northman once.

If Dawn was to be believed, Eric had been riding in the same elevator as she was, and between the fifth floor—where Dawn had gotten onto the elevator—and the third floor, he'd successfully talked her into going back up to one of the three apartments on the top floors of Northman Tower. It didn't seem like Dawn would have taken much convincing. Sookie had read enough from Dawn's lips to know that Eric was "skilled in the fucking department" and "hung like a stallion."

But Eric Northman was also clearly respected at the company, apparently just as skilled in business as he was in bed. It was rumored that Appius was hard on Eric, but the son—even at the age of 29—was spoken of with a lot of admiration. For one thing—according to the gossip—he was good at putting out Nora's fires.

Eric's official title was Deputy CEO, and he was the heir apparent to Northman Publishing, but Sookie wasn't really interested in that. As long as the company was sound and she got to keep her job, she would be happy.

"Susan," Sam Merlotte said congenially from behind her.

Sookie spun around with a practiced smile on her face. "Hello, Mr. Merlotte," she said as she noticed the lovely woman on his arm.

"This is my wife Luna," Sam introduced the Latina.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Merlotte," Sookie said.

"It's Ms. Garza, actually," Luna corrected pleasantly. "But you should call me Luna."

Sookie smiled in agreement, though her palms were clammy from her nervousness. If there was one thing she hated, it was a social situation. "Thanks for passing along the information that Amelia was looking for a renter," Sookie said, glad that she had a topic to mention.

Luna smiled, "I'm happy that it worked out."

"Me too," Sookie answered, realizing that she'd already run out of things to say.

"Are you having fun?" Sam asked, somewhat awkwardly. Sookie noticed that he was wearing a nicer suit than he normally did, and Luna looked very elegant in her charcoal gray cocktail dress.

"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Merlotte," Sookie lied, keeping her smile firmly planted on her face.

"Sam," he corrected as he'd been doing the entire first week she'd been working at NP.

"Okay," Sookie said.

"Well, be sure to get a drink and look around a bit. The Northman Galleries here at the MET are certainly quite something. Have a great time, Susan."

Sookie nodded and was grateful when Sam and Luna moved on. She hated the name Susan, but when Sam had assumed that was what she went by during their phone interview, she hadn't corrected him. After all, his assumption made sense. Her legal name was Susanna, and most people called her either that or Susan. Her nickname, Sookie, wasn't something many people knew.

Once Sookie was by herself again, she tried to stay behind groups—to see, but not be seen. And she also took the opportunity to really look at the paintings in the gallery that she was in. To say that Sookie was overwhelmed by the Metropolitan Museum of Art was an understatement. Unless the paint-by-number landscapes that decorated her childhood residence were counted, she'd not seen much art in person, and the Monet paintings in the gallery that she was in were some of the most studied and important works of art—ever.

Sookie had learned that the Northman Publishing beginning of the year party always took place on the second Saturday in January. In addition to the employees of Northman Publishing being in attendance at that party, other important New Yorkers, especially those in the publishing business, were invited. The party was held mainly in the Northman Galleries, which were composed of ten galleries in the European art wing of the MET. Using her skill, Sookie had already picked up on the fact that several of the pieces in the galleries had been donated by the Northmans, thus earning the family the right to have a section of the European paintings wing named for them.

The yearly party thrown by the Northmans was one of the only ones allowed to take place within the MET's art galleries, and Sookie was floored by the fact that people were carrying around cocktails in the same rooms that housed priceless works of art. However, the Northman family had the kind of wealth that got them things normal people just didn't get. Sookie had picked up on the fact that large, yearly donations to the MET enabled Appius Northman to do pretty much whatever he wanted, which meant that he could throw his party wherever he wanted it to be thrown.

In truth, Sookie could hardly fathom the kind of wealth the Northmans had, but she did like the art that she had seen in the galleries she had wandered through. Many of the paintings captivated her with their energy and texture, and she vowed right then and there to pick up one of the brochures that she'd seen about yearly memberships to the MET. There were so many galleries in the huge museum that Sookie knew that it would take someone years to get through them all, and she figured that—since she wouldn't have a social life to eat up her pay check—a yearly pass to the MET might be an acceptable luxury item and a way to fill her weekends, especially once she was done writing her Thesis.

She let her eyes move slowly around the gallery she was in, only stopping their progress when they reached one of the corners of the room, right between Monet's _Water Lilies _and one of the several doors in the gallery. There, Sookie saw a man who seemed to belong more in a Greek statuary rather than the Monet room.

The man was tall and blond, dressed impeccably in a black suit. His hair looked a shade or two darker than hers—probably because it was slicked back with gel. The most amazing thing about the man was that—although he was the most captivating thing in the room—only she seemed to be noticing him at that moment. The room was full of milling people, but the man was somehow separate from everyone else—as if he had separated himself.

"Adonis," she said to herself.

Though Sookie couldn't be a hundred percent certain, she was pretty sure that her eyes had landed on Eric Northman. And he was as handsome as everyone said; no—handsome wasn't the right word. He was striking. But what struck her the most was not his looks; it was the _way_ he was looking.

His blues eyes drew patterns around the room that reminded Sookie of the way she would study a space.

He seemed to be testing the gallery for danger, gauging it like a military veteran would scrutinize a space for traps and mines and ambushes. When his captivating blue eyes swept in her direction, however, Sookie moved her gaze to the corner of the room opposite from Eric's corner. That corner was empty.

Something inside of her shook a little as she tore her eyes from that blank corner. Her every instinct—every desire—was to look back at Eric Northman, but she couldn't bring herself to do that. She couldn't because she was almost certain that he would be looking at her. She didn't want his piercing blue eyes to penetrate her, for she feared them finding her lacking.

So she made her feet move her out of the gallery she'd been in, Gallery 819.

* * *

[A/N: I hope that you enjoyed the chapter and getting to know this Sookie a little bit more. You'll find that she's had quite a hard life. Many of you have already figured out that Sookie is a lip-reader. How she came to be one will be revealed soon and plays into her tragedy.

There are pictures of the paintings being referred to as well as Gallery 819 and other tidbits on my WordPress site if you want to check it out: californiakat1564 . wordpress . com. In actuality, nine of the ten galleries I chose for the Northman Galleries are actually the Annenberg Galleries in the MET.

As always, thanks for reading.]


	3. Chapter 3: Ships Pass

[A/N: Hello! Thanks for reading! Some of you asked in your notes to me last time why Sookie would feel that the skill of lip-reading was a bad thing. I certainly didn't mean to insinuate that the ability to read lips would make someone "defective" or a "freak." I truly hope that I didn't offend anyone. I have deaf friends with the skill, and being offensive to them or anyone else was certainly not my aim.

Sookie's feeling about that skill has its foundation in "how" she developed it, which has yet to be revealed. Also, some might see "supernatural Sookie's" telepathy as a gift, but she finds it a curse because it causes her—among other things—to know information that she would rather not know—ugly things about people and humanity. However, it also protects her at times. The Sookie in this story knows similar negative things because of her ability to lip-read. While not, perhaps, aware of people's thoughts, this Sookie "hears" things she would rather not. I hope that this explanation begins to give you some insight into Sookie's attitude toward her skill. I am aware that many people can read lips—and for many reasons. All the mysteries around why Eric and Sookie are the way they are in this story will—hopefully—be satisfactorily unraveled as I move through the narrative. Thank you to everyone willing to travel through that narrative with me.]

* * *

**Chapter 3: Ships Pass**

Eric Northman felt the suffocating constriction of falseness closing in around him—hugging him. Everywhere he looked, there was a pair of fake breasts or an insincere smile or a handshake being shared between enemies. Not for the first time, Eric wondered if there was anything real about the world in which he lived.

He knew for certain that _he_ was not real. And—in truth—it was the "real" that frightened him more than anything else. The "real" could be taken from him. Had been taken. The "real" would hurt him.

He'd learned during his almost 29 years that the only safety to be had was found in detachment and distance. So he stayed at arm's length from everyone—including any "self" that tried to form within him. He counted himself lucky that he had very long arms.

The world he lived in was about only two things: wealth and power. And as he looked around Gallery 800, he saw that most of the people there were either parading around what they already had or trying to get more. What he didn't see was anyone looking happy. Everyone was too busy pretending or scheming or networking or weaseling.

Hoping to find some respite, Eric slipped out of the larger gallery into a smaller one.

He sighed heavily. Despite the fact that he craved a break from his world, he wasn't naïve enough to think that he was any better off than the other party-goers. He was just as fake; hell, his whole "social persona" was a careful construct. He'd spent the better part of the evening "socializing" with people he didn't like—all while he used his natural charm and intelligence to get what he wanted from them: a new business deal, a promise of service to be rendered, the mobile phone number of the nameless socialite he intended to fuck after the party.

As always, however, his greatest performance was in pretending to be the beloved son of Appius Northman—when he was anything but loved by his father.

Hating everything about himself in that moment, Eric decided to regroup, so he took up a defensive position in the corner of Gallery 819, which was one of the Monet galleries. He made a quick assessment and saw only middle managers and support staff from Northman Publishing.

He sighed with relief, knowing that his father would never linger in a room unless someone inside of it was making it worth his while, and there was no one in the gallery who fit that bill. Of course, Eric's presence alone wouldn't be enough of a draw for Appius, especially since the elder Northman had already given Eric his customary castigation for the evening.

So Eric watched from the corner of the gallery. He'd learned—during his four years at NP—how to fill and dominate a room when needed, and he'd become good at it even though it didn't come naturally to him. In fact, being larger than life and exuding confidence were merely two parts of the character that he "acted" for public consumption.

However, he felt more comfortable keeping out of the spotlight, and he was good at going unseen when he wanted. After all, he'd spent the first twenty-five years of his life keeping to the shadows. It was—decidedly—safer there.

Eric looked around the room in the methodical way which had become his habit, sweeping it like he was looking for landmines. But there was no one in that room that could hurt him, so he relaxed a little.

As soon as he did, he saw gold—saw _her_.

He didn't even see the _her_ from the front. And since she was on the other side of the gallery and there were people milling between them, he didn't see her well either. Her back was to him, and she was studying one of the Monets that he didn't care for, though his least favorite was the much fawned-over _Haystacks_, which his father liked to brag about donating to the MET.

What caught his attention about the woman was her hair. It looked like spun gold, but it had way too many hues to be out of a bottle. Eric let his eyes trail down the part of the girl's body he could see and was happy when he discerned some actual curves there.

However, even though Eric tried to order her with his mind, the girl didn't turn around to give him a look at her face. Instead, she left the gallery.

* * *

Sookie made her way from Gallery 819 to Gallery 800, even as she felt the probing eyes of Eric Northman trailing her. However, the last thing that she wanted to do was to come to the attention of any of the high-ups in the company. She worried that if any of them looked too hard at her résumé, they would determine that a mistake had been made in hiring her.

Even worse, she feared what kind of look she'd get from a man like Eric Northman.

Would he look at her with pity or scorn? Would he look at her like she was defective? With disgust? With indifference? Those were the looks that most everyone gave her after a while. Even Gran found it impossible to keep the pity from her eyes much of the time.

And for some reason, the way that Eric Northman—if that was, indeed, the man she'd seen—looked at her mattered to Sookie. She'd seen the intelligence and the self-preservation that had guided his blue eyes around the gallery. His were eyes that would be able to read her own defenses and deficiencies easily, and she didn't know if she could take someone truly seeing her—not now. Not so close to the time that Bill's duplicity had crushed what little self-confidence she'd been building over the last several years while she'd been in college.

However, to escape the proverbial lion's den—the gaze of Eric Northman—she had stepped into the fire.

Immediately upon entering Gallery 800—which was very long, though not much wider than the room she'd just come from—Sookie caught the eye of Arlene, the redhead who was pretty much the "Queen Bee" of the copy editors. And like good drones, Dawn and Maudette were right next to her. Despite the nasty looks on their faces, Sookie had to admit that all three women looked good in their cocktail dresses. All of their dresses were black, which was the most common color of the garments at the party, and they were also all much more appropriate for the occasion than Sookie's faded dress.

Though Sookie had been at NP for only a week, she'd already been labeled a "freak" and a "weirdo" by Arlene and her cohort. And because of the redhead's influence and Sookie's own ingrained self-doubt, the blonde hadn't made any friends in her department—not that she'd ever been good at making friends.

At first, Sookie had been hopeful that things would be different in New York where not a soul knew her, but she'd quickly realized that her hope had been nothing but a pipe dream.

So at the office, Sookie had quickly developed a strategy. She tried to keep her head down—to keep focused on her work and to do a good job. But sometimes she caught herself watching the people around her in a similar way to how Eric had been watching the people in the gallery. Out of deep-rooted habit, she watched others as a defense mechanism and with the hope that doing so would give her the knowledge that she needed to survive. Sadly, she was not nearly as good as Eric at being inconspicuous when she became lost in her watching; thus, her predilection to "stare like some retard," which was how Maudette had so charitably put it, had certainly done nothing to prompt the others in the office to befriend her.

Sookie saw Arlene's lips move to tell her followers to take a look at "what the cat had dragged in." And Sookie was immediately being scanned from head to toe by all three women. For her part, Sookie had already looked away slightly. She could still see the little group in her periphery—her perfect peripheral vision good at targeting what she didn't want others to know she was looking at. Sookie—again for the sake of self-preservation—had, through much practice, mastered this kind of half-looking.

It was Dawn who spoke first. "Do you see what she's wearing?"

"It looks like it came off the rack at Wal-Mart. The clearance rack. A decade ago," Arlene chortled in the way that only a true gossip could do.

The women continued their insults, but Sookie was able to detach herself from those. Insults—she was used to.

Instead, she tried to focus on one of the many bronze sculptures in the long room as she slowly moved farther away from the women. Unfortunately—or fortunately in this case—Sookie could still see the women's lips moving, so she could still "hear" them speaking.

"If Pam sees her, she'll likely be fired on the spot just for shaming the company," Maudette giggled.

"Or—even better—_Nora_ could see her," Dawn returned.

"Good idea," Arlene commented. "Susan's so damned weird that it'd be better not to be forced to work with her every day. I still don't know why Sam hired such a retard."

"I heard that she blew him for the job," Dawn said conspiratorially.

Sookie could tell that Dawn had whispered her words, barely moving her lips, but the blonde could still understand everything she had said.

Sookie tried not to show any reaction as all three women studied and judged her like predators. Sookie had been looked at like that before. Arlene and her cronies were the kind of people that cultivated the position of Alpha so that they would feel better about themselves; thus, they needed someone weaker to beat down—someone like her.

Being the target of a bully was not new for Sookie. After all, she'd been bullied by the master—her own mother—for most of her life.

"I see Pam and Nora at the other end of the gallery. Let's 'help out' our new co-worker by introducing little Susan to the big, bad wolves," Dawn said sarcastically.

Arlene cackled pitilessly. "Oh yes—_that_ would be fun."

Quickly, though subtly, Sookie looked toward the opposite end of the long room and did—indeed—see Pam there. She was standing with a beautiful brunette woman, who had a scowl on her face and a drink practically tipping from her hand. Obviously Nora.

Immediately, Sookie knew two things. First, there was no way in hell that she wanted to be introduced to them. Second, since Sam had seen her there already, she could safely escape the party early, hopefully without getting into any trouble.

After all, it wasn't as if anyone would care if she was gone. No one ever had before.

Luckily, she was closer to the large door at the end of the room than Arlene, Dawn, and Maudette were, so Sookie—as inconspicuously as she could—began moving toward it.

She thanked her lucky stars that she made it out of the room without the other women getting to her first. There were restrooms right beyond the door, and Sookie hoped that Arlene and her little "court" would think that she was going there.

But that wasn't where she was going.

Finding herself alone in the long hallway, Sookie practically ran to the nearest elevator and quickly punched the button to call the conveyance. She thanked God when the metal doors opened immediately so that she could move inside of the box. Luckily, the elevator was empty and the doors closed quickly behind her.

Out of immediate danger, Sookie took a deep breath and looked at her image in the mirrored wall of the elevator; as expected, she saw her fears and insecurities moving onto her face. She had become good at hiding all of her emotions—never letting them come to the surface until she was safe, but she reminded herself that she wasn't yet safe. Not really. She wouldn't be safe until she was locked into her room for the night.

Despite wanting to, Sookie couldn't seem to tear her eyes from her image. She saw all her flaws magnified. She'd known that she wouldn't belong at that party—not with so many confident and important people there. But she'd attended because she couldn't afford to do anything to risk her job.

She sighed heavily—shakily. She'd hoped that her new job would somehow make _her_ new. But it hadn't. Just as inevitably as she'd been judged as "odd" or "a misfit" by the people in her hometown and then by those in her college classes, she'd been deemed as "defective" at her new job. Already, most of the people in her department didn't like her; even Sam, who was nice to everyone, seemed to be uncomfortable around her—perhaps because of the rumors about how she'd gotten her job.

Sookie forced her eyes to close and her skin to thicken. "You need to accept the fact that you will _never_ fit in—not anywhere," she said to herself, hoping that the woman in the mirror was listening too.

Sookie had already resolved to do whatever she could to keep her job. She couldn't run back to Bon Temps, and there was no way that she'd go crawling back to Bill. No. She would just have to suck it up and try harder to make herself invisible.

Realizing that she had forgotten to press the button to go down, she opened her eyes, but kept them on the button pad. When the elevator doors opened, she hurried out of the conveyance and toward the main entrance of the museum. As she waited for the attendant to bring her the only coat that she owned, she kept her promise to herself and picked up a few of the free brochures at the desk.

"Making an early night of it, Miss?" a kind-eyed guard asked as she put on her threadbare and too-small coat.

She nodded at the man as she stuffed the brochures into her pockets. She didn't really know how to operate when strangers were kind to her. She glanced at the guard's nametag and read, "Ben." It was a nice name for an obviously nice man, but "nice" was difficult for her to deal with. It always had been.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. What she needed was to be alone in her room so that she could decompress from the anxiety-filled night.

"Can I hail a taxi for you, Miss, or call your driver?" Ben asked.

"No thank you," Sookie managed as she moved to go out into the bitter night. January in New York was much colder than anything she'd ever experienced, but Sookie welcomed the frigid temperature, compared to the discomfort she'd felt at the party. She turned up the street and began walking toward the subway station.

* * *

Eric was still contemplating the golden hair of the blonde he'd seen earlier when his sister, Pam, and his stepsister, Nora, entered Gallery 819. Eric could tell immediately that Nora was drunk.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself.

Pam had a fake smile on her face as she led Nora over to Eric. His sister's eyes were screaming at him for help.

"Oh, Eric," Nora purred as she ran a finger down his lapel. "You look good enough to eat. It's such a pity that you and I didn't work out."

Eric cringed a little bit as he thought about his and his stepsister's ill-fated attempt at sex less than a year before. It was not a memory his enjoyed recalling.

"Shhh," Eric ordered Nora softly as he put his arm around her swaying body.

"Roman kept bringing her liquor," Pam hissed. "And I'm afraid we'll have a repeat of last year if we don't step in."

Eric nodded. _Last year_ had consisted of Nora getting drunk to the point that she loudly propositioned Copely Carmichael, one of Appius Northman's oldest associates. The fact that Copely was old enough to be Nora's father wasn't the problem. May-December marriages were not uncommon among the elite of New York society. Hell—his own father was almost four decades older than his current stepmother!

The problem was that Copely had been a widower for less than a month at the time of last January's party. Even worse, Nora hadn't dropped the matter, although Copely was clearly uninterested and obviously upset by Nora's behavior. It had taken Eric stepping in to remove Nora, who had—by the time—draped herself all over the clearly uncomfortable widower like a fucking fungus. Eric would never forget the look of horror and anguish on Copely's face when Nora had promised—in an inappropriately loud voice—that she could help him "to forget all about his dead wife."

As far as Eric knew, Copely hadn't spoken to Appius since then—despite the fact that one of Copely's real estate developments was partly owned by Appius.

"Goddamned Roman," Eric muttered of his stepsister's newest paramour. Nora's men generally lasted about a month before they'd had their fill of Eric's beautiful, though erratic, stepsister. Of course, Appius, who favored Nora well above his other children, chose to ignore her antics. Still, Eric couldn't help but to feel sorry for Nora. Her predisposition was to cope with the emptiness in her own life by drinking until she felt full, and people like Roman were certainly not a help to her.

"Where is Roman?" Eric whispered, now supporting more of Nora's weight as she teetered on her four-inch heels.

"I don't know," Pam answered.

"Find him and then come back here," Eric said evenly.

"Yes—find _Roman_," Nora said in an increasingly slurred, pouty, and loud voice. "He's _much_ more fun than either of you. Oh," she added as if struck by an idea, "and bring me another glass of champagne—will you, Pammy?"

"Sure," Pam humored her stepsister as she stepped out of the room through a door leading to another small gallery. Almost immediately, she stepped back in and gave Eric a significant look, which told him that she'd already spotted Roman.

Eric sighed with relief when Nora didn't resist his leading her into the next gallery.

The tall blonde spotted Nora's current lover easily. The married business mogul was flirting with one of the girls from NP. Roman's wife, as always, was in Europe somewhere, no doubt being just as promiscuous as her husband. The girl he was flirting with—whose name was Dawn or Dusk or Twilight or something along those lines—was looking at Roman with lust, and he was leaning down to whisper something to her. The woman immediately burst into fake-sounding laughter. Eric rolled his eyes. He'd had sex with the woman before, and she'd not been a bad fuck—though she'd been the kind of woman who moaned a little too loud—the entire goddamned time—for it to seem real. Eric had not sought out a repeat performance with her.

"Hello, Eric," the woman purred as he approached with Nora.

"Do you know the captivating Miss Green?" Roman asked with a wink.

Eric's stomach turned. "Yes. Will you excuse us?" he asked her. "Roman was just going to take Nora home," he said, his tone allowing for no argument.

Thankfully, Roman didn't try to disagree. Instead, he looked back at Dawn with a leer. "Would you care to join Nora and me for a nightcap, Dawn? The penthouse apartment in Northman Tower has a tremendous view."

"Oh goody," Nora grinned, "a party."

Dawn looked at Eric lasciviously. "Sounds good, Roman," she said, trying to sound seductive. "Will Eric be joining us too?"

Nora hiccupped out a laugh, but Eric gave her a harsh look so that she would keep her mouth closed.

"I'm afraid I can't," Eric answered stiffly. He handed Nora over to Roman. "But you all have a nice evening."

Eric watched as Roman led Dawn and a now-stumbling Nora through two smaller galleries and then into the larger one. Inconspicuously and nervously, he followed them at a distance in order to make sure they got away from the party and onto the elevator without incident. Pam, who had stayed back when Eric took Nora to Roman, joined him, and they both let out sighs of relief when the elevator doors closed.

Eric looked around them. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed Nora's stumbling. His stepsister—though beloved of Appius—was not well thought of by others in the publishing world, and he didn't want anything she did to undermine NP. Plus, though Nora certainly wasn't his favorite person, he did care about what happened to her, and he didn't want to see her make a fool out of herself—again. Moreover, Eric knew that if she did do something asinine, he would be the one blamed for her actions—just as Appius had blamed him the previous year.

"Did Father see her like that?" Eric asked, hoping to confirm the containment of Nora's condition.

Pam shook her head. "No. Since he spoke to you earlier, Father and Andre have been too busy catering to Sophie-Anne to notice much of anything."

Eric nodded and relaxed a little. The twenty-year-old Sophie-Anne was Appius's newest wife, and she was eight months pregnant with their first child.

Pam cackled. "It looks like—after tonight—Dawn will have worked her way through _half_ of the Northman children."

Eric rolled his eyes. It was only after he'd slept with Dawn that he learned that Pam had had a short dalliance with her as well. Dawn—it seemed—was the "office bike," so to speak. And she didn't discriminate between the genders.

Eric sighed. As usual, he felt a little disgusted with himself for having so little pickiness when it came to the women he fucked. However, they were a release for him—nothing more. The last thing he wanted to do was to get attached to one—not when he knew what attachments would inevitably lead to: loss.

Oh, he knew that he'd have to eventually get married—to someone his father approved of. Eric had no illusions about how Appius saw him. To Appius, he was nothing but a hated—though necessary—studhorse, ready to be matched with someone who could increase the Northman wealth or enhance their status. At least—almost three years before—Eric had found out why his father had always despised him so much.

Of course, knowing was only good in that it took away any hope that Eric might have had to one day earn his father's affection. Unfortunately, that knowledge had not been liberating for the young man; it had simply stolen one of the few things he'd always held on to.

Eric shook himself out of his unproductive thoughts and touched the card in his pants pocket. On it was the number of the beautiful raven-haired woman who had approached him earlier in the evening. He'd known what she wanted as soon as she'd walked up to him.

She was probably 23 or 24 years old, and her expression had bespoken of her sense of entitlement. And—obviously—she felt entitled to _him_ that night. Eric was no fool; he knew that he had a "reputation" among the daughters of the elite. They all wanted to have "a go" with him. And all of them secretly hoped to outdo their competitors and land such a prize as Appius Northman's eldest son. But Eric still had several years before he would be forced to choose a socialite with whom to begin what would most likely be a loveless and empty marriage.

And he planned to be single and miserable—rather than married and miserable—for as long as he could.

For the night, however, he would use the young woman, whom he now recalled had introduced herself as Freyda, Felipe de Castro's daughter. However, she would use him as well. In New York society, it would be deemed as a "successful transaction." Hell—he might even find her tolerable enough to take to a few social functions or charity galas if she wasn't the clingy type.

Still—as he began to maneuver through the galleries that were housing his father's party, he was not looking for the dark-haired beauty whom he was scheduled to fuck later that night. Eric found himself looking for a certain head of golden hair.

Of course, he didn't admit to himself that he was also afraid of finding the owner of that hair. What if the woman was just as fake as everyone else? Or—even more disconcerting—what if she wasn't?

He chastised himself, wondering why he even cared about the girl at all! After all, he hadn't even seen her properly. Likely, she was just the date or the daughter of an NP employee, and that glimpse would be all he would ever see of her.

Eric tried to put the golden hair out of his mind and to focus on talking to everyone he was expected to talk to. He laughed at their recycled jokes and stories. He promised the appropriate people that they would "have lunch at the club soon." However, he kept finding himself looking for gold among the wealthy.

He found none.

* * *

After an hour of performing as he was expected to perform, Eric snuck into Gallery 823.

Although Gallery 823 and Gallery 826 were two of the Northman Galleries, they were never used for the January Northman Publishing parties since the Van Gogh paintings inside of them were impossible to insure for such a gathering. They were roped off, but the guard let Eric pass because of who he was.

As Eric looked around the gallery, he once again saw the golden color of the woman's hair. However, this time the hues were in a swirling field of wheat. Eric walked closer to that wheat.

He hadn't been to the MET often—only coming for the yearly NP party where he was required. However, each of the years that he'd attended, he'd always found himself in _this_ particular gallery, staring at _this_ particular painting, which had once again caught his eye—but this time for a different reason.

Since he'd first seen the work, he'd been captivated by the thick paint, which created a scene that jumped off of the canvas with its energy. He'd always been acutely aware that the painting teemed with more life than he did.

Generally, when Eric thought of wheat fields, he thought of vast, lonely places—miles and miles of endless crops on the flat plain—in Oklahoma maybe. But Van Gogh's wheat field was different. There were rolling hills in the background and a thicket of trees in the middle of the crop. And on one side of the canvas, there were two cypress trees leaning into each other. One was tall and mature, while the other was much smaller. Eric had always thought about his mother when he saw the painting.

He couldn't remember much about his mother, Stella, since she'd died when he was only five years old; however, he could recall a woman's smile and the smell of jasmine. He remembered her voice, telling him a story. And he remembered feeling warm—maybe even loved.

He recalled that fleeting feeling every time he looked at the painting, which was why he always found his way to it during his visits to the museum. However, this time, he didn't focus on the Cyprus trees as he usually did. He was studying the wheat and wondering about the woman whose hair—just like the painting—seemed to hold every shade of gold.

"Beautiful," he whispered into the empty room.

* * *

[_**A/N:**_ Remember that there are picture of the cast, galleries, etc. on my WordPress site if you are interested: californiakat1564 . wordpress . com (spaces out).

I'd like to once more thank everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review this story so far. I will try to respond to any reviews I get this week (unlike last week when I was swamped at work). Please forgive me if I didn't respond to your thoughts. I think I missed some. To make up for that, if you respond to this chapter before the next is posted (hopefully next weekend), I will try to give you a short preview of the next one.

**++++VERY VAGUE SPOILER ALERT FOR BOOKS…UPCOMING / STOP READING HERE IF YOU DON'T WANNA KNOW ANYTHING!++++**

Okay, I will admit that the spoilers about the final book have made me a little melancholy. I couldn't find it in me to write at all yesterday. Sigh. However, I promise to continue to try to write Eric & Sookie stories that do justice to the wonderful characters that Charlaine Harris introduced to us. Those characters captivated me with their inherent tragedy and their endless potential. It is that which I will always try to tap for myself and for my readers. Thank you for being one of them.

Best,

California Kat]


	4. Chapter 4: Just a Little Pin Prick

**A/N:** This chapter takes place one year after the last one. It occurs one year before Chapter 1.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Just a Little Pin Prick **

_**January 14, 2012**_

"Pam was right," Nora said as much to herself as to Eric. "She is _so_ fucking odd," Nora added contemptuously as she looked over Eric's shoulder at the blonde behind him.

"Who?" Eric asked, though he wasn't really interested in what Nora was saying. In truth, he was merely keeping an eye on her so that she wouldn't get drunk. She'd done a stint at the Betty Ford Center the previous October, but after she got out, she started up her affair with Roman again. And she'd resumed drinking—though it didn't seem in excess.

Yet.

Eric was just grateful that Nora was no longer taking any of the harder narcotics that had pushed him to convince her to go rehab in the first place. He sighed. Nora was prone to excessive behavior—especially when she was dating someone who had a similar personality as her own. At least, however, she was able to see that she had been losing control of her life when Eric approached her in October after she'd almost fucked up a deal Appius had been working on for months. At the time, Nora had been dating an up-and-coming male model, who was known as much for his cocaine habit as he was for his abs. Compared to him, Roman Zimojic was a saint.

Eric was the only one who knew that Nora's month-long "vacation" from Northman Publishing was not to a secluded resort on the Riviera, and he'd made sure that her job had been done—and done well—in her absence. Of course, Appius 'oversaw' Eric's efforts during that time—and offered his requisite criticism—but the patriarch of the Northman family never questioned why Nora left for a month without notice.

Eric sighed. He'd expected no different from his father.

While Nora was in rehab, the model moved on quickly to another rich woman—much to Eric's relief. Nora had returned vowing not to get involved in illicit drugs again after the kinds of horror stories she'd heard and the kinds of things she'd seen at Betty Ford. Eric hoped—for the sake of both his stepsister and the future of NP—that she would be able to keep her vow.

So far—with the exception of a few drinks here and there—Eric could tell that his stepsister was doing okay, at least at work. She'd not made any major mistakes since she'd gotten back from rehab; in fact, she seemed to be taking her job as CFO more seriously. Her temperament also seemed to be more moderate, which was especially welcome.

Though Nora wasn't bad at what she did, Eric had realized pretty quickly after she came to work at Northman Publishing that she wasn't ready to be the CFO of a company the size of NP. However, she was buffered by a good team, many of whom helped Eric to keep an eye on her. No one working under Nora would dare to take a complaint about her directly to Appius, whose affection for his stepdaughter was equal only to his love for his infant son. Thus, any issues regarding Nora were brought to Eric in confidence—outside of the walls of the office, where Appius seemed to be all-knowing. Happily, the problems had been few and far between since Nora's time at Betty Ford.

"Eric!" Nora said loudly. "Are you even listening?"

"No," he chuckled. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

She sighed with frustration, but spoke her next sentence more quietly. "The strange girl—the one in Pam's division."

"Oh," he said, recalling that Pam had mentioned her to him before as well. "What about her?" he asked.

"She's been staring at us for the last ten minutes—like some crazy person." Nora gestured toward the other side of the gallery.

Eric glanced over at the girl Nora was referring to.

His breath hitched.

There, in almost the exact spot where he had first seen her the year before, was the girl with the hair of gold. And this time, she was looking back at him with beautiful blue eyes.

* * *

As soon as Eric Northman looked at her, Sookie felt as if time had stopped, and for a moment, she was lost in their shared gaze. However, she soon recovered her wits and purposefully shifted her attention so that it was several yards to the left of Nora and Eric. She knew that they had caught her looking; hell, she'd been staring in their direction for quite some time. But she had been waiting for Eric to look at her. She had wanted to do what she'd not been able to do the year before: to look back.

Over the years, Sookie had found that if she was caught staring and looked away too quickly, she would only bring more attention to herself, and the last thing that Sookie Stackhouse generally wanted was attention. Attention always led to her being hurt—_always_.

But she had wanted Eric's attention this time—even if it did hurt her. She had needed to know something, and that shared look had told her.

Sookie continued to study Nora and Eric with her peripheral vision. She couldn't help but to notice that they made a striking couple, and the gossip in the office was that the two of them had dated on and off for years, despite the fact that they were stepsiblings. In fact, the office gossip suggested that Nora's month-long "vacation" had occurred because her heart had been broken when Freyda de Castro announced that she was engaged to Eric—an engagement which Eric adamantly denied in the press the very next day. The day after that, the gossip magazines had published the transcript of a "stalkerish," rambling phone message Freyda had left for Eric, as well as several pictures of Freyda caught by surveillance cameras around the building where Eric lived and Northman Tower.

The latest rumors indicated that Eric and Nora were back together, but from what Sookie had seen, Eric's demeanor toward his stepsister was congenial, but not particularly warm.

Sookie couldn't miss the fact that Eric's sharp blue eyes had studied her for almost a minute before he turned back to his more attractive conversation partner. But those seconds had been a lot more than Sookie usually got from handsome men. Oh—who was she kidding? No man as gorgeous as Eric Northman had ever looked at Sookie for more than a second or two.

Moreover, the word "handsome" just didn't cut it for a man like Eric.

Around the office there was a joke about Eric Northman, and all the straight women and gay men enjoyed sharing it over and over again. Sookie didn't mind "hearing" it repeated again and again from the lips of the people around her. After all, it was true.

It went like this: On a scale of 1 to 10, Eric Northman would need a bigger fucking scale.

Sookie kept her eyes focused on the spot she'd picked on the wall near Eric and the striking Nora. It was a convenient spot since it was right where the most famous Monet in the room was housed. Eric looked back at her and then followed her gaze to the painting as well. His lips turned downward slightly into a frown, a move Sookie barely caught because he almost had his back to her when he looked that way. However, there was a little profile, so she saw that little frown.

Sookie couldn't help but to smile a little at his reaction. She had to agree. She didn't like that particular painting either, but it was an expedient resting place for her eyes since she wouldn't allow herself to focus on the most beautiful work of art in the room. And Sookie had seen _a lot_ of art in the past year, so she could now speak with some authority on the matter.

She'd once compared Eric Northman to a Greek statue, but now she knew that there really wasn't much comparison. She'd studied every single Greek statue in Gallery 153 and then—for good measure—she'd spent a similar day in Gallery 162, the Roman sculpture court. And Eric's form put every single one of the statues in both of those galleries to utter shame.

* * *

Eric glanced back at the young woman after seeing which painting she'd been looking at. He couldn't help but to notice the tiny smile playing on her lips. And he had done enough stealthy watching in his time to know that the blonde was still looking at him despite the trajectory of her direct vision.

"What do you mean odd?" Eric asked his companion, even though he wished that Nora would just disappear so that he could approach the woman, whose hair had appeared in many of his dreams during the previous year. In those dreams, he'd been trying to find her—but all he'd ever seen were glimpses of her golden hair.

"Pam says that she never really talks to anyone—at least not beyond business."

"Well—NP _is_ a business, Nora," Eric smirked. "What is she supposed to do? Gossip all day long?"

Nora shrugged. "According to Pam, she's always staring at and studying people. Pam thinks she's a little 'off,' and I agree. I mean—why else would she stare like that?"

"Well, we all know how Pam likes to blow things out of proportion," Eric said, shrugging off his stepsister's obvious distaste for the blonde who intrigued him so much that his heart was literally in his fucking throat.

The brunette scoffed and looked back at the girl with disdain. For her part, the blonde kept her eyes on Monet's _Haystacks_.

"I don't think Pam is blowing things out of proportion—not after seeing her here today. Not after the weird way she was looking at us," Nora commented. "For fuck's sake! She's at a party and she hasn't even talked to anyone."

"Well—not everyone likes parties, Nora."

"It's a company party at the MET!" Nora said. "And we are in the publishing business. Who doesn't want to schmooze and booze with people that can help their careers? Anyway, Pam hates it when she has to work with the girl—Susanna, I think Pam said her name was. She says that talking to her is like pulling teeth. She's fucking anti-social."

"Well, why doesn't Pam just fire her then?" Eric asked, looking back at the girl, this time trying to draw her eyes to his so he could fully see them again.

However, the girl didn't take the bait; if anything, her eyes moved farther from his, though he would swear that she was still looking at Nora and himself.

"Because," Nora replied in a hushed voice, "according to Pam, she's the best and most efficient copy editor the company has ever seen. And her clients love her."

"Then she can't be _that_ antisocial," Eric commented keeping his eyes on Susanna and testing the name in his mind. "Susanna" didn't seem to fit the singular creature he was looking at, nor did "Susan" or "Sue" or "Suzy" or "Anna" or any other nickname he could derive from the name.

"She works with them via email mostly," Nora said.

"Well—that's how the majority of our copy editors do things these days, Nora."

"Well—I still think there's something _off_ about her," Nora commented.

Eric shrugged. With difficulty, he turned his attention away from Susanna and began to talk to Nora about other things, though he kept an eye on her.

"Eric, I was hoping to see you here," came Freyda's voice from behind him. Her words and tone were meant to sound like a seductive greeting, but they made Eric's skin crawl.

"Strange," Eric said, turning around to face her and trying to keep from openly cringing, "I was hoping that you _wouldn't_ be here."

She sighed. "Had you just married me as your father counseled, none of that unpleasantness would have happened. Just think about it—the two biggest publishing houses in New York could have been united through us." She brought her hand up to his lapel and flattened it on his chest, an act that clearly made Eric uncomfortable.

He stepped back, causing her hand to drop, before stepping toward her again, this time with his hands in a defensive position—ready to bat down any more attempts she might make to touch him.

He spoke to her in a barely audible, clipped tone. "You and I fucked exactly two times, which was one more time than the number of dates that we had. And had I known that you would become a stalker, following me to both my place of work and my home, not to mention the phone calls, I would have never fucked you in the first place. You need to get over this, Freyda."

"Eric, what we had was precious—special," she insisted, even as she sneered at Nora, who had stepped back a few paces.

"What we had was a total of about three hours almost a year ago."

"We were engaged," she insisted.

"Freyda, just because you went to my father and he agreed with your insanity doesn't mean that I did."

"You humiliated me," she said, sniffling a little and wiping tears from her eyes.

Eric could tell that they were crocodile tears.

"You humiliated yourself," Eric shook his head pityingly. "Listen—I'm sorry that my father made you promises on my behalf, but you and I are _never_ going to happen."

"Why not? We're perfect together," she persisted.

"Name one goddamned thing we had in common other than a completely forgettable orgasm or two?"

She laughed incredulously. "We have a lot in common. We both come from the _right_ kind of family. Just think of the empire we'd have," she said, her eyes wide.

He shook his head. "You're nuts," he whispered. "And if I see you following me again, I _will_ have you arrested. I can't imagine your daddy would want _that_ scandal on top of the last one."

She glared at him. "You can't just sleep with someone and discard them."

"You knew what we were doing," he hissed. "I made that clear before I even touched you."

"You just don't see the truth right now," Freyda said insistently. "But someday, you'll come running to me, Eric. I'm your father's choice, and I know that you'll eventually see how things should be."

Eric shook his head. "If you're Appius's choice, why don't you just wait around a few years? By then, he'll probably be ready for another wife."

Freyda huffed and turned on her heel to walk away.

"No wonder the odd little blond girl doesn't faze you," Nora deadpanned when she moved so that she was next to him again. "You've had to deal with crazy Freyda for a year."

* * *

Sookie sighed and tried not to let the conversations she'd "overheard" bother her too much. She'd been able to read people's lips since she was a little girl, but it wasn't always a good idea to "listen." It was just a hard habit to break.

As soon as the woman, whom Sookie recognized from the tabloids as Freyda de Castro, had interrupted Nora and Eric's conversation, Sookie moved so that she could more clearly see both Freyda's and Eric's mouths.

She hated to admit it, but for the last year, she had often found herself looking for Eric at Northman Publishing, though she'd not actually seen him that much. He'd been to her department only a couple of times so that he could meet with Sam. Pam's office—though on Sookie's floor—was actually on the other side of the building with the main editing team. The copy editors kind of stayed to themselves.

On even rarer occasions, Sookie had seen Eric in the staff café at Northman Publishing or in the large auditorium when there were meetings that involved the entire staff. During those gatherings, she would observe that Eric would stay out of the limelight and keep to the corner of the room. His eyes seemed to take in almost everything, but she'd gone out of her way to make sure they'd never fallen on her—not until ten minutes before, that is.

Sookie had been—for lack of a better word—_captivated_ by thoughts of Eric during the previous year. The way he studied his surroundings and the slightly lost look she saw when she really studied him drew her in and frightened her away all at once.

She couldn't name what she felt when she saw him. And she also couldn't explain her contradictory impulses. Her feelings scared her, even as she wanted desperately to feel them more.

When she saw Eric's lips berating Freyda for stalking him, she felt slightly ashamed, knowing that she had been doing something comparable—though certainly not to the same degree as Freyda. But Sookie did "look" for him, and when she saw him, she watched without his knowing.

Sookie sighed. Maybe she was "crazy," as Nora had said. But—then again—her interest in Eric seemed like the least crazy thing in her life sometimes. After all, everyone seemed interested in him.

Sookie could point to several moments in her life that had been pivotal—that in retrospect had made more difference than any others. Strangely, they were always her lowest moments—the ones when she wondered if she should just give up, but something had always stopped her.

The year before, that "something" had been Eric Northman. She hadn't met him, and she'd not even exchanged eye contact with him the year before, but he had unwittingly changed her life. There was something about him that seemed so _familiar_ to her—like she was looking into a mirror when she saw him.

And that confused her. After all, they came from radically different worlds, and they would likely never meet—never speak. But when she got back to Amelia's house after last January's NP party and thought about the way that Eric had surveyed the gallery when he thought no one was looking, she had realized a fundamental truth: she wasn't alone.

She didn't know _why_ Eric's eyes were like hers—why they held the same mixture of guardedness and neutrality when others were looking and pain and longing when they were not, but the important thing was that they _were_ like hers. She'd never found a connection like that before, and—though it had taken her a year to discover enough courage to test it—she now knew that it was real. And it was not one-sided.

She'd only been able to do it for a moment, but she _had_ looked at him. Just as importantly, she'd let him look at her—let him see her eyes without her safeguards in place. But that was all it had taken to show him that he wasn't alone either.

_Connection_. It was sometimes almost impossible to find, but once found, it could make all the difference in the world.

Sookie closed her eyes for a moment in order to make sure that she'd taken an accurate mental image of Eric's eyes when they'd stared into hers. She had. They were a perfect blend of cerulean and cobalt—with just a touch of steel blue. She wanted to gaze into them for hours in order to pick out every single shade and memorize every single line.

But that was not one of her goals for the evening.

She thought of the list of three goals that she and Claudine had formulated and discussed the week before at their therapy session.

Sookie had met Claudine Crane via her housemate Amelia. Claudine was Amelia's best friend and had visited the house in Brooklyn several times. The perceptive psychologist had handed Sookie her card one day when she was waiting for Amelia to get ready. At the time, Sookie had been trying to be a good hostess, channeling what she thought Gran would do in a similar situation. She had gotten Claudine a glass of iced tea, had spoken to her about the weather, and had even managed to smile without it seeming too fake—or so she had thought.

Claudine had—without pity in her eyes—given Sookie the card and told her to come by her office some Tuesday after 5:00 since she always stayed late to get caught up on paperwork that day. It had taken Sookie exactly twenty weeks after that to compel herself to go. At first, she'd worried that Amelia had told Claudine that she was "odd." And then she had worried about what she could say to Claudine.

Just four weeks before, however, right before the year anniversary of Dr. Dekker's death, Sookie had shown up at Claudine's office.

During their first meeting, Claudine had asked about Sookie's job. She'd asked about Sookie's hobbies. Sookie had told her about visiting the MET on Sundays and going to the public library on Saturdays. Claudine had asked about Sookie's Master's degree, which she'd finished the spring before. Sookie had volunteered that she was going to be staying in New York for Christmas, which was the following Sunday. She admitted that she was sad because the MET would be closed that day. She'd told Claudine that she was planning to make a batch of Gran's chicken dumplings on Christmas day since they took a long time to prepare and since Amelia would be out of town for a week, beginning that Friday. Again—without pity in her eyes—Claudine had asked Sookie to bring her some leftovers the next Tuesday.

Thus far, they had met three other times—every Tuesday. After the first meeting, Sookie had asked to pay like anyone else, and Claudine had made sure that a bill was waiting for her the next week.

A month's worth of counseling hadn't yielded any sweeping breakthroughs or existential epiphanies. What it had yielded, however, were practical measures, a lot of questions, and some answers.

During their second meeting, Claudine had asked Sookie what she wanted most in her life. And Sookie had said the first thing that came to her mind: _connection_.

Claudine had asked Sookie if she thought she _deserved_ to make connections with others. Sookie had answered that she didn't.

Claudine had asked Sookie if it _mattered_ if she deserved the make connections. Sookie had answered that she didn't know.

Claudine had asked Sookie if she'd ever had a true connection with anyone. Sookie had asked if the other person had to know about it for the connection to count.

And then Sookie had told Claudine about Eric and the unexplainable bond she felt with him. From that, Goal #1 had been born for the NP party: to catch Eric Northman's eye and see if the connection went both ways.

Goal #2 was for Sookie to practice talking to people socially—to see if she could begin to make other kinds of connections. Claudine had reminded Sookie that she'd already had a lot of practice with Amelia, who considered Sookie to be a friend. Sookie had been shocked by that revelation, but she had also been bolstered by it.

Goal #3 was to try to stop her mother's voice from being the dominant one in her brain while she was at the party. Sookie was all too acutely aware that it was Michelle Stackhouse's voice that determined the way that she operated in most high-pressure situations. Michelle had always insisted that Sookie "be normal," even as she'd berated her for not being that way.

Claudine had asked Sookie to define "normal."

Sookie had answered that to be "normal" was to be invisible.

Again—without pity—Claudine had suggested that "normalcy" was actually a huge spectrum of behaviors and that fitting in and standing out could both belong in that spectrum. She suggested that Sookie's goal—to make connections—was perfectly "normal," for instance.

She'd also suggested that if Sookie did feel a deep connection with Eric that she should try to initiate a conversation with him. Sookie wasn't so sure she'd be able to do that, but she promised both Claudine and herself that—at the very least—she would practice speaking with others.

As Eric wrapped up his conversation with the apparently very delusional Freyda de Castro, Sookie was once again a little scared that she was somewhat crazy for fixating on an individual just because she'd _almost_ shared a moment with him the year before—"almost" being the operative word.

She'd shared that fear with Claudine several times during their session on the previous Tuesday. But the therapist had allayed Sookie's fears, telling her that nothing she'd done in regards to Eric had been wrong. All that she was guilty of was spotting someone for whom she felt a sense of understanding. However, Claudine had cautioned that what Sookie had felt might just be one-sided and that she should be prepared if Eric was indifferent.

Sookie smiled a little. Eric had been anything but indifferent when he'd looked at her. He'd been curious. He'd been intrigued. He'd been surprised.

His eyes had been kind.

Sookie slipped out of Gallery 819, feeling a lot more confident than she'd entered it. Goal #1 was completed. Thus, she resolved to work on Goal #2. Sookie had decided to go in search of Sam Merlotte, her boss. He had been nice to her during her year at Northman Publishing, though it was clear that she made him feel a little uncomfortable at times—mostly because he had to deal with the complaints that poured in about her from the others in her department. Arlene and her minions had—in the last year—taken it upon themselves to complain about Sookie's "peculiar ways" to anyone who would listen.

Sookie was just glad that she still had a job, though she was always nervous that the other shoe would drop—likely in the form of one of Pamela Northman's expensive pumps. Sookie figured that the only reason she still worked at NP was because Sam had advocated for her several times. She knew that she was an excellent copy editor, but she also knew that she wasn't important enough to be indispensable.

As Sookie looked around Gallery 800, she recalled the articles that Claudine had given to her about mingling. All she had to do was approach a group of people, smile, and say hello.

"Easier said than done," Sookie thought to herself.

Sookie had spent hours memorizing a list of topics she could discuss at the party, everything from recent newspaper articles related to publishing, to new trends in fashion, to how the New York Giants were faring in the NFL playoffs. And, of course, she knew that she could talk about the art in any of the galleries where the party was being held. Sookie had grown to love the MET, and she was quite familiar with many of the galleries since she spent every Sunday there. The first ones she'd studied had been the Northman Galleries, starting with the Monet gallery where she'd first seen Eric, Gallery 819.

Sookie tried to calm her nerves. Unlike the previous year, she had been able to look the part of a young woman at an important publishing party. She was wearing a simple black sheath dress with a pleated neckline that provided full coverage for her modest breast-size. The garment neither accentuated nor hid her curves.

Sookie had chosen the dress because the pleats made it look a little unique—but not too different—and because it was a bit longer than a lot of cocktail dresses. She'd bought it two months before when Sam had pressured her to take a few of the vacation days that she'd accumulated so that she wouldn't lose them. So Sookie had spent two whole days looking for something appropriate that she could afford. She had even found some black Jimmy Choos in a secondhand store. They'd been scuffed, but she had used shoe polish to make them presentable. Of course, the name brand had made the shoes cost 100 dollars despite their wear, but Sookie had splurged once she realized how comfortable the shoes were.

Another reason she'd spent a bit more on the dress and shoes than she'd originally planned was because they could also be worn to work if she paired them with her charcoal gray suit jacket. Given the fact that the money she allowed herself to spend was still quite limited, Sookie had to stretch every penny. But her savings account was looking better and better, and she was able to send Gran three hundred dollars a month, so Sookie couldn't really complain.

The only piece of her outfit that could be construed as anything other than conservative was the scarf she was wearing around her neck. Sookie had debated all day about whether she should wear it. It was impractical for the cold temperature outside, but Sookie loved it. It had been the color—a soft red—that had drawn her to it. It was very thin and made of delicate creped silk chiffon, and she'd bought it in the same secondhand shop where she'd found the shoes, but she'd not had occasion to wear it yet, so she finally decided to just go for it.

Sookie smoothed out her dress and took a deep breath, deciding that she would get a drink and then find Sam.

She walked toward the opposite side of the long room and then into the hallway where an open bar was set up; however, she was at a bit of a loss at first as she scanned the many bottles of expensive-looking liquor.

"What can I get you?" asked the friendly voice of the bartender.

"Um," she fumbled a little even as she remembered that most people were walking around with cocktails or champagne. She was not overly fond of mixed drinks, and the one time she'd had champagne, it had given her a headache. It wasn't that Sookie didn't like a drink now and then; however, she preferred wine or beer. But she didn't see those options.

"How about one of our signature cocktails?" the bartender offered helpfully. "It's basically a gin and tonic with a little raspberry juice."

"Thanks," she said, grateful for the man's help. "That sounds good." She'd had a gin and tonic before and had liked it, so that choice seemed safe enough.

The bartender just nodded and quickly went to work on her drink. Sookie gave the man a smile for his efforts when he handed the beverage to her. She took a quick sip of the liquid courage and then went back into Gallery 800, in which most of the party guests were congregated since it was the largest of the Northman Galleries.

Sookie forced herself to smile a little and then to keep that expression in place. She'd been told by her mother _many_ times that the fake smile that she had used for most of her life made her look like she was "crazy," but Claudine's articles said that it was important to seem to be welcoming and friendly and that a smile would accomplish those things.

When Sookie had discussed with Claudine her fears over her "Joker smile"—as her mother had called it—Claudine had suggested that Sookie try to think of something that made her happy and then to smile at that. Sookie had planned to think about her time exploring the MET during the previous year. Doing that always made her feel content.

However, all she could think about now were Eric's eyes. His orbs had been deeper than any she had ever seen, yet it still seemed as if what she saw was only the tip of a huge iceberg peeking out of the water. She found herself smiling softly and naturally as she thought about what lie under the surface. She intuited that it was _that_ which was making her feel connected to him.

Her smile in place, Sookie spotted Sam, who was talking to Pamela Northman, whom everyone called Pam—at least to her face. Behind her back, people called her a lot of things, and very few of them were flattering. However, Pam seemed to like all of the negative monikers about her. In fact, Sookie knew for sure that Pam's current favorite was "the blood sucker." She'd picked up that information from Pam's own lips earlier that very evening as she'd been laughing with Sophie-Anne, whom Sookie knew was Appius Northman's wife.

Sookie bolstered her courage and decided to approach Sam anyway—even though Pam was with him. She determined that she would talk to both of them. After all, they all worked in the same place, and Sookie had seen the dress that Pam was wearing in one of Amelia's fashion magazines. Sookie decided that she could comment about that if no other topics came to mind. And she already had a topic to speak to Sam about: Luna and he were due to have a child soon.

However, Sookie stopped in her tracks when she automatically began to read the words from Pam's lips; they were words about her, and even though Sookie could see only the profiles of the pair, she could still "listen" easily.

"Then—you need to give Susanna a workspace out of the way of everyone else," Pam said. "There are just too many complaints about her. I know that you don't want to have to fire her, but I will do it for you if the complaints don't stop. The HR department informed me just yesterday that a second official grievance has been filed by Arlene Fowler."

"What for this time?" Sam asked.

"A hostile work environment," Pam responded.

"I don't understand," Sam said, looking frustrated. "Susan does her job; in fact, she does it very well. You can't let a bunch of bullies sway you."

Pam sighed. "Listen, Sam. I know you and that wife of yours collect stray animals, but don't you think it's time for you to let this one go? Granted—Arlene and her little groupies are like a clique from a bad high school movie, but I can't exactly blame them for being uncomfortable around Susanna—can you?" Pam asked. "I don't even have to deal with her that often, and I find her off-putting."

"Susan's just a little shy," Sam defended weakly. "But she's the best copy editor I've ever seen."

Pam sneered.

Sookie prepared herself to "hear" something she didn't want to hear. Pam wasn't known for her kindness; she was known for being blunt.

"That's part of the problem," Pam said. "She's _too_ good—too efficient. So the others are intimidated and jealous. And then there's the way she just stares at things as if she's in another world or just escaped from a fucking loony bin. If you want her to keep her job at NP, then you need to—I don't know—hide her. Put her into a goddamned storage closet or a fucking corner for all I care! But do something about it, Merlotte. I don't want to see or hear another complaint about her. If I do, I'll take care of it myself."

Still about fifteen feet from Sam and Pam, Sookie turned on her heel before they saw her. The last thing she needed was to be caught staring at them now. All of her courage evaporated in an instant, and her mother's voice—ordering her into the corner and telling her that she was defective—was all that she could hear.

Sookie's breath caught in her throat, even as she tried to expel her mother's voice from her head, using some of the techniques that Claudine had taught her. They weren't working.

She shook her head and stood awkwardly in the middle of the long room. The party was in full swing, and everyone was talking in groups—little circles of people gossiping or networking or flirting.

None of them were alone. Except her.

"You don't belong at a party for 'normal' people," Michelle Stackhouse's voice said into her head as if she were standing right next to her.

Sookie couldn't agree more.

She felt her feet moving. It took her a moment to realize where she was going.

Back to Gallery 819. Back to find Eric.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who wrote in last time with a review or a comment! I really appreciate all the support! I tried to answer all of your reviews this time—if they came in early in the week. If I missed you, I apologize. Just like last time, I will offer a preview of the next chapter to anyone who writes a review—unless you tell me not to give you one.

Also, I want to give a special thanks for everyone who voted for _**Come Back to Me**_ in the Fangies! The winners were announced today, and I was honored to receive 2nd place in all the categories in which I was entered. And given the quality of everyone nominated, I was very pleased with that outcome! And should the winner not be able to fulfill his/her duties, I will step in and take the crown and … oh wait. Sorry. That's the wrong speech. ;)

Again, thanks for the voters and the organizers of the Fangies!


	5. Chapter 5: Strange and Beautiful

Chapter 5: Strange and Beautiful

_Sookie shook her head and stood awkwardly in the middle of the long room. The party was in full swing, and everyone was talking in groups—little circles of people gossiping or networking or flirting. _

_None of them were alone. Except her._

"_You don't belong at a party for 'normal' people," Michelle Stackhouse's voice said into her head as if she were standing right next to her._

_Sookie couldn't agree more._

_She felt her feet moving. It took her a moment to realize where she was going._

_Back to Gallery 819. Back to find Eric._

As Sookie reentered the room full of exquisite and renowned Monet paintings, she didn't look at any of them. Instead, her eyes went to the place where she'd last seen Eric.

He wasn't there.

She quickly scanned the rest of the room.

Not there.

Still—Sookie walked into the gallery, and—as if being pulled there—she moved to the spot where Eric had been standing with Nora, hoping that he might have left behind something of himself—anything.

But she found nothing there.

She closed her eyes. "You can do this, Sookie," she said to herself. "_You_ can do this."

When she opened them again, she was looking at _Haystacks_. Sookie felt her lips turn downward. She'd spent one of her Sundays in Gallery 819 and had developed an appreciation for Monet, but she just couldn't bring herself to "like" _Haystacks_. She smiled just a little as she felt herself becoming a little calmer.

Being able to form an opinion—to hear her own voice in her head—had always been a saving grace in Sookie's life. Sharing those opinions was something she still striving to do, but having them was another story. Michelle had never infiltrated the opinions that Sookie developed about other things—just the ones that she had about herself. But the ability to form opinions for herself—as Claudine had pointed out—was a good place to start. And it was something for which Sookie could be proud.

Again, Sookie tried some of the deep-breathing techniques Claudine had taught her, but this time they helped. She took a steadying drink from her cocktail and thought about the conversation she'd "overheard" from Sam and Pam. She sighed. It could have been worse. And really—she'd learned nothing that she'd not known. She'd already known that most everyone in the office disliked working with her. She'd already known that Arlene had filed another official complaint. The only new thing was that Pam had no more patience when it came to the complaints.

On the other hand, there was news that could be seen as good. Sam had defended her, and maybe if she could work apart from the others, the problems would stop. And there was also her therapy with Claudine. Every day Sookie was feeling a little better, a little stronger and more capable. "You can do this, Sookie," she repeated to herself.

After a few more moments, she turned to face the rest of the room and to plan her exit strategy. Being calmer was a good start, but Sookie still wanted to leave the party as soon—and as inconspicuously—as possible. She had seen Arlene and her cronies near the door of Gallery 800 where she'd exited the year before, so leaving that way was something she wanted to avoid. She was just wondering if she dared slip out through the roped-off galleries when she heard the commanding voice of Appius Northman coming from Gallery 818, which was right next door to Gallery 819.

In addition to owning the company she worked for, Appius was one of the richest men in the country—and one of the most powerful. Through the doorway, Sookie could see that he was speaking with his brother-in-law, Stan Davis—_Senator_ Stan Davis. Sookie took another nervous sip of her drink and moved out of the line of sight from that doorway—not that the powerful men would notice her anyway. But there was no reason to take the chance; the last thing she wanted in that moment was scrutiny from the owner of her place of work.

She turned around and let her mind focus on the painting which was her favorite in the room; it was called _The Four Trees_ and it always struck her because of the mood it evoked in her.

"You like this one?" came a voice from next to her.

Clenching her drink in her fist so that she didn't drop it on the wooden floor, Sookie turned toward the smooth voice and immediately became the proverbial deer caught in headlights as her eyes locked with Eric Northman's. In that moment, she was glad that she'd not just taken a drink. She would have likely spit it out. "Close your mouth. Don't drool," said her inner voice. Somehow, she obeyed it.

"You didn't like the other one—did you? _The Haystacks_?" Eric asked, gesturing to the painting to the left of _The Four Trees_.

Sookie glanced to her side in order to see if there was someone standing next to her—someone else Eric might be speaking to. But there was no one close to them.

"Do you speak?" he asked somewhat playfully with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

Did she speak? In that moment, Sookie wasn't quite so sure.

A million words went through Sookie's brain. She loved words; they were her life. They had always been her refuge. They were her livelihood. But none came out of her mouth to save her from the silence that she was certain would consume her as Eric waited for an answer. She wanted to rip her eyes away from his and move them back to the painting—to do anything to get her bearings. But she couldn't pull them away from him—not when he was so close to her.

"Oh—I'm sorry," he said, speaking again as if she wasn't standing there gaping at him. "I'm Eric Northman." He extended his hand to her, and by reflex, she took it. His expression showed a little surprise along with the smirk that was still there.

She wondered if his surprise had come from the little bolt of electricity that she felt when they touched. Could it be that he had felt something similar?

"And you are?" he asked.

Who was she? She was a girl still unable to speak.

"Your hand is cold," he mused as he broke their contact—probably ten seconds after what might have been construed as a "normal" handshake duration.

Sookie would have whimpered at the loss of his large, warm hand from her own if the novelty of having it there in the first place wasn't so great. She'd only ever held one other man's hand, but Bill had not really been one to take her hand in his that often.

"Of course, the temperature is kept rather cool in this place," Eric said when she still didn't answer. He seemed content to carry on both sides of the "conversation," a fact for which Sookie was incredibly grateful.

"Would you like another?" he asked, looking at her left hand, which held her almost empty glass. "Perhaps, I could join you for one. I haven't tried this year's cocktail yet."

Even as Sookie continued to try to think of words that could be construed as an intelligent answer, she heard Appius Northman's voice from behind Eric.

"Eric!" Appius bellowed. "Come! I have something I wish to discuss with you."

Sookie saw Eric's eyes lose all of their life and mirth even before his father had finished his sentence.

"Now," Appius added sternly.

"Another time," Eric said, touching her hand again—ever so briefly. "It was nice speaking with you," he added, his smirk reemerging for a moment.

He turned and walked away, and though she'd not been able to speak, her eyes followed him as he moved toward his father.

That was a mistake.

She met the dark steel blue eyes of Appius and had to work hard to keep her countenance steady even as the elder Northman gave her a withering appraisal, which was the direct opposite of how Eric had been looking at her.

"Who is that?" Appius's lips asked as Eric joined him and Senator Davis at the other end of the gallery.

Eric glanced over his shoulder, and she caught the word, "Nobody," on his lips as he turned back to face his father.

Nobody.

That single word—for some reason—wounded her more than any of the others she'd seen that night, but she didn't plan on letting that show—not yet.

She breathed in, and she breathed out—inviting the numbness to take her. She just needed a plan. She just needed an escape.

She couldn't really leave the gallery she was in, however, since she would have to go back into Gallery 800 to get to the hall leading to the elevator, and Eric, his father, and the Senator were currently in that path.

Sookie took a deep breath and turned around so that she was looking away from the men. She drank the last sip of her cocktail, even as she felt her eyes being pulled to the corner of the room where she'd first seen Eric the year before. It was empty.

"Susan," Sam said from behind her, startling Sookie again. Thankfully, her glass was now empty.

"Hey, Sam," Sookie answered as she steadied herself and turned around. She couldn't help but to cringe internally at the name most everyone called her; Claudine and she had talked about her letting people know that she preferred "Sookie," but that had been a goal for another week.

She managed to pull on a smile. She was certain that it was her fake one, but it was either that or nothing.

"I have great news!" Sam said, even though his own smile didn't reach his eyes either.

"Oh?" Sookie asked, preparing herself for news that likely stemmed from his conversation with Pam.

"Uh—we have decided to—uh—give you Mr. Peters's office when he retires at the end of the month. Uh—he's not being replaced, and I'm sorry to say that this isn't a promotion. You do great work—don't get me wrong—but the department isn't—uh—promoting now. And—uh—others have more seniority. But with all your projects, it makes sense that you have a little more room and your—uh—own space," he finished awkwardly.

"Thank you," Sookie said, truly grateful for the fact that Sam had found a way to help her to stay at NP—at least for the time being. "You're right. I don't have much room at my station, and this way, the others can have more space too," Sookie said, trying not to sound robotic—trying not to look like all she wanted to do was bolt away.

"It's just that we—uh—wanted to move one of the copy editors—because of the space issue and all—and since you are the only one that doesn't—uh—have collaborative projects—uh—right now, it made sense for it to be you."

"You're right," Sookie said. "That does make a lot of sense."

Sam looked immediately relieved that she hadn't asked him to justify the decision to move her any further.

"Well, thanks for letting me know," Sookie said.

However, Sam didn't leave as she'd anticipated he would after delivering his news; instead, he looked at her expectantly. Sookie took a deep breath and tried to think of something appropriate to say. Luckily—unlike when Eric was standing before her—the connection between her brain and her mouth seemed to work okay with Sam.

"It's been nice seeing you, Sam―I mean outside the office," she said somewhat awkwardly. "Did—uh—Luna come with you this evening?"

"No," he said, a worried look momentarily clouding his handsome features. "She wasn't feeling that well today—morning sickness. I should probably be getting home soon."

"Me too. I need to email a client overseas," Sookie lied.

"Oh—okay. I'll—uh—see you Monday, Susan," Sam said with an awkward wave as he turned away and left the room. Sookie was relieved to see that Eric and his father were gone too, but as she waited a few seconds so that it wouldn't look like she was following Sam out, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

She turned and faced the chest of Eric Northman. She looked up and then up again until she was once more locked into his eyes.

"Did I hear that you were going?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "I am headed out too. Maybe we could continue our," he paused, "discussion from before—about the Monet paintings."

She looked at him wide-eyed, but her feet moved when he took her hand and led her out of the gallery. Her three-inch heels clicked as they made contact with the polished wood floors, but she didn't notice the sound. She just noticed the warmth of his hand holding hers.

Instead of walking her through Gallery 800, however, he took her into Gallery 820 before looking around, moving a rope barrier, and then leading them into Gallery 823. He didn't stop until they were in front of a painting by Vincent Van Gogh.

"I like this one. It makes me think of you," he said, looking at her and not the painting.

Given that words were indeed her life, Sookie couldn't miss the fact that his verb tense made it seem as though he thought of her habitually, but that couldn't be.

Could it?

Sookie looked at him in question, which was the closest she could get to forming words in that moment. She knew the painting. It was called _Wheat Field with Cypresses_. When she looked at it, her eyes were immediately drawn to the many blues in the sky. She realized that she was looking for the hues in Eric's eyes there.

"Why?" she asked in a barely audible voice, though he seemed to hear her just fine. In truth, she found it ironic that her first word to him was also the name of a letter, but she was just happy with the baby step of making any intelligible sound at the moment.

"Are you offended by the comparison?" he asked, his eyebrows lifting and his smirk ghosting back onto his lips.

Her brow furrowed as she looked at the painting. She wasn't offended by the comparison. She loved the painting in front of her. In fact, it was her favorite piece in that gallery. It was just that she didn't understand how it could make Eric think of her. The painting was of a wheat field during a summer day. Poppies were in the foreground and a grove of trees made up the center of the piece though Van Gogh's swirling blue sky was what mostly stood out to Sookie. That sky—so rich with the three-dimensional painting techniques Van Gogh was most known for—filled up half of the canvas, though the cypress trees poked up into the blue swirls.

"Why?" she repeated.

He pointed to the yellow wheat. "If you look close," he said in a quiet voice, "this field seems to have every shade of yellow and gold in it," he observed.

He turned to her and dropped her hand, which he'd still been holding. She looked from the blues of the painting to the blues of his eyes, finding the latter as beautiful as anything the great artist had captured on his canvas.

Slowly—as if to make certain she didn't skitter away—Eric brought his fingers up to her hair.

All traces of his smirk were now gone, and his eyes held an intensity that made Sookie's knees quake a little.

"I had never noticed how lovely that wheat field was—until I saw your hair last year. It _was_ you—wasn't it?" he asked a bit uncertainly. "You were in the Monet gallery we just came from, but I only caught a glimpse of you. I looked for you all evening, but couldn't find you. And then I looked for you at NP. But for the last year, I've only found you here," he said, gesturing toward the wheat field. "I began to think that you were a figment of my imagination."

Her breath caught.

He stepped closer to her. "Is Susan your name? That's what I heard Merlotte call you."

She shook her head. "No," she managed to whisper as his eyes seemed pull the word out of her.

"Do you have an alias then?" he asked waggling his eyebrow.

"Susanna," she answered.

"That's what Nora called you, but you don't look like a Susanna to me," he said with a hint of a smile. He was still holding a piece of her hair in his hand; the act was the tenderest Sookie had ever experienced.

"You look like the sun," he said almost reverently.

Sookie hadn't heard words of admiration for a long time—not since Bill. And he hadn't really offered her that many of them. Thinking of her ex-boyfriend made her cringe internally a little. But it also helped her to snap out of her shock at the situation—at least a little.

"Sookie," she said.

"Sookie," he repeated, trying out the name. "It fits you. Who calls you Sookie? Friends? Lovers?"

She blushed deeply. "Friends," she said. In fact, she had four friends, counting Claudine, and they all called her Sookie, even though one of them would no longer speak to her. So that made three. "Friends and my gran," she added, mentally counting back up to four, which was the number of words in her first "sentence" to Eric. Sure—it didn't have a verb, but it was at least more than one word.

"And me?" he said, half-asking and half-stating. "May I call you Sookie as well?"

As he asked those questions, he was bending over toward her, his eyes moving from hers to her lips. As if on a string, her chin lifted up.

Doubts filtered into her mind. She didn't really know this man—despite the connection she felt with him. Every woman at Northman Publishing lusted after him, and—if the office gossip was true—many had been "entertained" by Eric, though he was known for never being with any of them more than once. And now it was she whom he was targeting. She knew better than to trust that he really liked her. He'd just met her that night—_if_ it could be called a meeting.

Her self-doubt told her to run away, but, instead, she rose slightly onto her tiptoes as his lips made contact with hers.

The kiss was unlike any she'd ever experienced; as soon as it started, it was hot fire, and the intensity grew as his hands moved to the back of her head and pulled her closer. She was a little stunned at first, but whereas her mouth seemed to refuse to speak coherently to him, it immediately agreed to participate in the kind of conversation that was currently happening between them. His tongue sought entrance through her lips, and she allowed it without thought, even as she raised her hands to his shoulders, both to steady herself and to create more contact with him. However, his suit jacket prevented her from feeling the warmth of his flesh, so her hands traveled upward until they were touching his neck and jaw and cheeks and ears and hair—anything she could find that was _him_ and not his clothing.

His hands moved from her hair to her face, cradling and touching—assuring himself that she was real. He kissed her with such a fire that he seemed like a man who was going off to war—a man kissing his lover goodbye before he faced a battle that would likely kill him.

When they had to break apart for air, Sookie looked up at Eric with shock on her face—shock at what she had just done and with whom she had done it.

Eric's look mirrored hers, but it was there for different reasons. His mouth was open slightly so that he could catch his breath; he looked like he had been getting ready to speak, but had suddenly forgotten the words. He took a couple of small steps back from Sookie, almost as if he were scared of her all of a sudden.

Sookie bit her lip and backed off a little too.

Eric's eyes, a blue tempest of things that she couldn't decipher, despite her years of studying people, remained fixed on hers.

Blue swirls on a master's canvas.

And then there was suddenly a look in those eyes that Sookie _did_ recognize—accusation. She'd seen that look a million times—from her mother, from her brother, from her classmates, for her work colleagues, from her friends, from Bill, and even from Gran a few times. It was a look that told her she'd done something wrong—a look that told her that she'd been behaving "abnormally" again.

Her hand rose to her lips, which were still tingling from Eric's kiss—a beautiful feeling that she'd never experienced before. But she couldn't enjoy it, not with him looking at her like he was. She would have whispered out an apology, but her now-shaking hand was more firmly over her lips, as if to hide the offending things from his gaze. She must have done something wrong.

"Yes"—she thought to herself—"of course you did something wrong. You just got the best kiss of your life, but that doesn't mean you gave a good one in return. This man in front of you—this god who would put Michelangelo's _David_ to shame—has kissed dozens of women, maybe even hundreds! And you have now kissed two men."

While this diatribe was going on inside of her head, Eric stepped forward a bit and seemed ready to speak; however, again he stopped.

"I'm sorry," she managed to say. The shaking of her hand seemed to have moved to the rest of her body as they stared at each other.

"Please," he said pleadingly, "don't be. Don't be sorry." His voice cracked a little. "It's just that I wasn't expecting something like that."

"It wasn't bad?"

"No," he said. "It was," he paused, "perfect."

"It was?" she asked, her quiet voice conveying her surprise.

He nodded and moved another step toward her, his eyes once more trained onto her lips.

"You folks are supposed to keep to the designated galleries," a guard interrupted from the doorway, his tone both annoyed and bored—as if his only job that night was to make sure the guests stayed where they were supposed to be.

At the guard's words, Sookie saw Eric's demeanor shift immediately from uncertainty and longing to control and confidence.

Eric turned around to face their interrupter. "We were just looking at the Van Gogh," he said, his voice steady and calm—the opposite of what it had been a few moments earlier.

"Oh, Mr. Northman," the guard said in recognition. In a much more conciliatory tone, he added, "You can, of course, walk through the wing as you wish; however, I'm afraid that I'll have to follow along with you if you want to leave the Northman Galleries. Uh—security reasons," he said apologetically.

"That won't be necessary," Eric said. "It was just the one painting that I wanted to show my," he paused, "companion. Shall we?" he asked stretching out his hand to Sookie. His eyes, now unseen by the guard, looked hopeful.

Her hand was tucked into his before she was even aware that she'd moved it.

"Have a good evening," the guard said to Eric. He barely glanced in Sookie's direction, however.

Given the interconnectedness of the gallery rooms, Eric led them out through two other roped off galleries, which led to the long hallway and the bank of elevators that Sookie had used as an exit the year before. The only difference was that she and Eric had emerged at the other end of the hall from Gallery 800.

Sookie was grateful. This way, they would avoid the party, which—from the sound of things—was still in full swing. Of course, she didn't know what would happen once they had exited the museum. More to the point, she didn't know what she _wanted_ to happen.

As they approached the elevator and Eric pushed the button to call it to them, Sookie's eyes were drawn to movements at the opposite end of the hallway where two men were having a quiet, though heated discussion. The men were at least thirty feet from Eric and her, but she recognized them immediately as Felipe de Castro and Victor Madden. De Castro ran the second most lucrative publishing house in New York—Vegas Publishing, named after the city where de Castro had been born and raised. Victor was his CEO. Not surprisingly—given his birthplace—de Castro had a reputation as a gambler. But he let Victor, who was rumored to be ruthless and underhanded, do his dirty work—at least according to the gossips at NP.

Sookie couldn't help herself as her eyes went to their lips. It was her habit. She heard Eric curse impatiently to himself when the elevator wasn't coming, and then she heard the button being punched again. But her eyes stayed on the talking men. What she "heard" from them caused her to gasp loudly, even as the elevator finally dinged to signal its arrival.

Her gasp drew Eric's attention down to her, and then he followed her eyes to the other end of the hall where he saw Victor Madden and Felipe de Castro. The two men abruptly stopped their conversation when they noticed Eric and Sookie.

"Northman!" de Castro said with a slight Spanish accent. Given their distance from one another, his voice was raised. It also sounded falsely enthusiastic.

"Felipe. Victor," Eric responded in greeting, even as Sookie squeezed his hand and looked up at him, her eyes containing nervousness that only he could see.

"Good evening, Eric," Victor said smarmily.

"I thought that you were meeting my daughter here," de Casto said, his tone betraying some annoyance as he took in the woman next to Eric as well as the sight of the couple's joined hands.

"No," Eric said simply.

"Then, she must have been mistaken," Felipe said, his eyes narrowed. "However, I _do_ wish you two would work out your difficulties and get on with things. I had such high hopes for you, Eric."

Eric sighed. "I'm sorry to disappoint, Felipe. But as I've explained to Freyda, she and I can't work—too many differences," Eric said diplomatically, wishing that he wasn't being forced to have such an awkward conversation over the length of the long hallway. Strangely, however, he didn't mind that Sookie was there.

"Freyda can be quite tenacious," de Castro said. "Perhaps she'll wear you down," he smiled, though his expression was anything but polite.

Eric shrugged rather awkwardly.

"Shall we lunch at the club next week?" Felipe asked.

"Sounds good," Eric said, already dreading what was certain to be another awkward encounter. "I'll have Ginger call Robin to set it up."

"Excellent," de Castro said.

Eric nodded a farewell and took a step toward the elevator before it was called to a different floor. Sookie caught only one more sentence from Victor's lips as she was stepping inside after Eric. Although that sentence had been the only one aimed at her directly—laughing her off as Northman's "tart of the week"—that was the least upsetting part of what Felipe and Victor had said.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Eric went to press the button to go down, but Sookie squeezed the hand that she'd been holding and found her voice.

"Mr. Northman, those two men are going to try to damage Northman Publishing. They have been buying up stock, which they plan to dump all at once to drive down the prices; they think that if they do that, they'll convince some big Chinese company to work with them and not you. And they have at least two spies in your company. I only picked up the names Quinn and Sandy, but they've been spies for a while. Their job for de Castro is twofold now. At first, they were only to find out all the information they could about NP so that they could use it to get the inside track when it came to contracts and such. But now, they also hope to learn something that can be used to blackmail you into marrying Freyda."

Sookie hadn't taken a breath during her speech. But now she inhaled deeply out of fear as Eric's eyes turned stormy again, but this time it wasn't from passion or confusion. It was from anger. His large hand, which had been holding onto her gently and comfortingly, now dropped her hand as if it were infected with a disease, and both of his hands came up to her shoulders, gripping her a little too tightly for comfort, but not in excess.

"What are you talking about? How do you know this? Are you a spy for de Castro?" Eric asked in an angry rush.

"No," she shook her head. "I—uh," she paused, not knowing how to explain. "I just know. Please. Just," she paused again and then spoke in barely a whisper. "Just protect yourself—okay?"

"How do you know?" he demanded again.

Tears immediately rose and fell from Sookie's eyes, and she was suddenly tongue-tied again. How could she explain what she could do? And even if he believed her, he might ask her _how_ she'd learned to do it. And—if she told him, what then? Would he pity her? Would he think of her as defective? Suddenly, her mother's voice was back, telling her to hide her ability—her disability—and to act "normal."

"How do you know?" he boiled, this time shaking her shoulders a little.

"I can't say," she said in a whimper.

Eric pulled his hands off of her like she was on fire and then stepped back. She watched apprehensively as he got ahold of his immediate rage.

"Are you certain of what you told me?" he asked after he'd gained a little more control.

She nodded.

"What are you?" Eric asked, dragging his hand through his hair. He seemed to be talking to himself now. "A spy for de Castro? One of my father's spies? Or are you a crazy person who just wants to stir up trouble?"

Sookie heard the word "crazy," and part of her was immediately lost to her memories of other kids—and even adults—calling her "crazy Susan." Playground chants from children and suspicious looks from their parents churned in her head. She'd come to New York to get away from "crazy Susan." She'd left Bon Temps and then Mississippi in order to find a new life—a "normal" life.

And—even though she'd been on the receiving end of insults from almost everyone she'd met in New York, no one, with the exception of Claudine, had found out about what made her different. Her life hadn't been perfect, but she'd been working to make it better. However, with a single word from Eric—"crazy"—all that seemed lost to her. She could take being odd. She could take not being liked. Those things were improvements, compared to what she'd gone through as a child. But what she couldn't take was Eric Northman thinking of her that way.

But why would he think of her in any other way?

"What are you?" he asked again.

"A copy editor," she said meekly.

He looked like he was going to shake her again, but she didn't back away. She'd been shaken, slapped, and hit many times before by her mother, and Michelle Stackhouse had been _a lot_ rougher than Eric. So Sookie just waited for any abuse Eric wanted to dish out.

However, Eric's eyes changed from angry to haunted, and he made no move to touch her. Instead, he pressed the button on the idle elevator so that the doors would open. And then he stepped out. She stayed completely still and watched him go.

He didn't look back.

* * *

[_**A/N:**_ As always, thanks for reading! And—for those of you who took the time to comment on the last chapter—thanks again! Hopefully, I can continue replying to you all, and as I've done with the last two chapters, I'll include a preview of the next chapter with my reply—unless you ask me not to.

I hope that you will check out this chapter on my WordPress site. There are some pictures of the Van Gogh painting, the gallery, and the characters introduced in the chapter. I also put together a video to go along with the chapter and its title, which is from Aqualung's song "Strange and Beautiful." It was my first video, and I had a lot of fun making it. Blog address: californiakat1564 . wordpress . com (just take out the spaces).

Again, thanks for reading!]


	6. Chapter 6: Electra Is Dying, Part 1

**[A/N: This chapter includes memories of some of her childhood abuse. It could be upsetting to some readers. I would also suggest Kleenex.]**

* * *

Chapter 06: Electra Is Dying, Part 1

"_What are you?" he asked again._

"_A copy editor," she said meekly. _

_He looked like he was going to shake her again, but she didn't back away. She'd been shaken, slapped, and hit many times before by her mother, and Michelle Stackhouse had been a lot rougher than Eric. So Sookie just waited for any abuse Eric wanted to dish out. _

_However, Eric's eyes changed from angry to haunted, and he made no move to touch her. Instead, he pressed the button on the idle elevator so that the doors would open. And then he stepped out. She stayed completely still and watched him go. _

_He didn't look back._

The metal door closed and Sookie felt the elevator jar to life.

Reasoning that it had been called to the lower floor since she'd not pushed the button, she knew that she didn't have much time to compose herself. Luckily, she'd had a lot of practice detaching herself from her emotions. With Claudine, she had been working on doing the opposite—on engaging with emotions good and bad—but Sookie gave herself permission to go numb for a while, given what had just happened. She quickly used the pretty scarf that she was wearing to dry her eyes as best she could. She hated the fact that she was ruining it with her mascara, but she didn't want to have black lines down her face. She glanced at her mirrored reflection in the elevator doors.

Considering everything, she looked okay, though her scarf was worse for wear.

Sookie closed her eyes to try to banish Eric from her brain. She would allow herself to think about him later; meanwhile, she needed to get home. When she opened her eyes again, she was looking down, avoiding the mirror.

She hated to see her eyes when she cried, for when they were bright with tears, they changed to a blue that matched her mother's eyes almost exactly. And seeing that blue often made Sookie recall all of the disappointment and anger and distaste that she'd grown up seeing from Michelle Stackhouse. That disapproving glare had ingrained itself into Sookie so fully that she could give it to herself whenever she did something like she'd done earlier—something that placed the words, "I'm not normal!", into glaring, flashing lights above her head.

Sookie shook her head and blew upward to stop more tears. "You can cry when you get to your room," she said to herself. "Until then, hold it together, Sookie."

Sookie hadn't needed to use such a pep talk for a while, but it still worked, and when the elevator doors opened and she stepped out of the enclosure as others stepped in, her eyes were looking at the floor in front of her so that people would be less likely to notice her. She walked toward the front entrance as quickly as she could go in her black heels, and she was pleasantly surprised when she saw that her coat was already waiting for her. She glanced up and saw Ben—whom she recognized from the year before.

"I had it handy, Miss," the congenial man spoke.

"Thanks," she managed.

"Can I get you a taxi?" he asked.

She shook her head as she put on the same gray coat she'd had the year before. If anything, it was even more threadbare, but new suits for work, her outfit for the party, and her therapy sessions had been her financial priorities.

Just as had happened the year before, Sookie found that she welcomed the biting cold of the New York winter night as she left the NP annual party.

Sookie shivered a little as a particularly strong gust of wind chilled her. She quickly put on her gloves and then the hat that she'd stowed into the coat's large pocket. Then, she headed toward the subway, which would take her to Brooklyn.

* * *

Sookie was grateful to find several open seats when she got onto the green line to Brooklyn; the ride would take around half an hour, and—as was her habit—she quickly used her ability to scan the conversations of those around her. Being able to read lips was a skill that she hated most of the time—both because of how she'd developed it and because of times like tonight when she looked like a crazy person because of it—however, it was also useful.

Sookie was astute when it came to figuring people out; out of necessity, she'd honed all the skill and intuition she had to ascertain which people were most likely to hurt her. So in some ways, she had more insight into the human psyche than Claudine did. But she had very little idea of how to successfully "be" around people. And when she tried—as she had with Bill—something eventually happened that clearly showed her that whatever attempts she had been making to be more "normal" were all for naught.

Sookie sighed. After she made sure that no one on the subway was talking about anything suspicious, she settled back into her seat and wondered what she should do about Eric Northman.

Based on what he'd said, it was likely that he thought she was a spy for either de Castro or—strangely enough—his own father. Or he thought that she was just as crazy as Freyda, his stalker. She sighed, once more wondering if she was "crazy fucked up in the head," as her brother Jason had liked to describe her.

Her encounter with Eric had left her reeling, and she found herself wanting to know what he'd wanted from her before she told him about what she'd seen from the lips of Victor Madden and Felipe de Castro.

Her mother would tell her that any interest Eric had for her was a con, a carefully crafted hoax to hurt her. After all, Sookie had fallen victim to such tricks before. When Sookie was fifteen, Michelle Stackhouse had paid a boy at school to "show interest" in her. Sookie had been a sophomore in high school, and the boy had been a senior, a classmate of Jason's named Rene Lenier. Rene was one of Jason's best friends, which should have clued Sookie into the fact that he was not being sincere when he told her—right in the middle of the school hall where several people could hear him—that he liked her and wanted to take her to the homecoming dance.

Rene was popular and handsome, and he was the first boy at school who ever talked to her—without taunting or bullying her, that is. She had accepted his invitation with a nodded "yes."

Even her mother had seemed to be excited when Jason told her that Rene had asked Sookie out. For the first and only time, Michelle had taken Sookie shopping, buying her a pretty white dress. Sookie had been amazed by her mother's seeming approval.

She'd dared to hope.

But—of course—what happened next played out like a bad teenage movie. Rene, of course, didn't show up to get her, but after Sookie had waited an hour on the porch—which Michelle said was the proper place to wait for a date—Rene had called to say that the coach had kept the boys after the game and that Sookie should meet him at the dance. Michelle had even offered to drive Sookie to the school gym.

But when she'd gotten there, the predictable happened. Rene, of course, was there with his "real" date. And all the kids had perfect ammunition with which to bully Sookie. They took turns ridiculing her for believing that anyone would ever want to date "the freak show." Rene had taken great pride in showing everyone the fifty bucks that he'd gotten to feign interest in "Crazy Susan." Finding herself the center of attention for all the wrong reasons, Sookie slipped away as soon as she could.

It wasn't even that the situation bothered her that much. It was "normal" more than anything else—at least "her normal." She was used to the people at school using her "otherness" as an excuse to bully her. She was used to the name-calling and the mocking laughter. She was used to suffering at the hands of others—especially her mother and brother.

What she was not used to was overcoming the one thing that she'd not felt before: hope. Feeling that hope disappear into thin air had damaged the normally numb girl.

The school was two miles from Sookie's house, and it took her half an hour to walk home on that cold, rainy night. Her mother had been waiting for her. Michelle Stackhouse had called the experience a "much needed lesson in humility" for Sookie and then proceeded to list all the reasons why _no_ man would ever want her. With the help of her bottle of cheap wine, Michelle got on quite a roll that night. The crescendo had been when she made a shivering, wet Sookie strip off her pretty, white dress and burn it in the fireplace.

It was not the worst thing that Michelle had ever made Sookie burn.

Sookie remembered how the white dress had taken a long time to disappear into ash, and since it was wet, burning it produced gray smoke which competed with Michelle's chain-smoking that night. If the white of that dress had symbolized hope and new beginnings for Sookie, the dark gray of the ashes and smoke had clearly signaled that isolation and detachment were safer things for her to feel. Thus—she had made herself forget about the hope and sink back into numbness.

As expected, Rene's trick had been much gossiped about at school, and no boy there ever showed her any interest again—not even after they'd begun to perceive her as "more normal."

Is that what Eric wanted? To trick her? To make her the star of some kind of game or hoax? She sighed, knowing that she had a good reason to suspect Eric. There was a precedent—even beyond the Rene incident—which indicated that any interest in her was a lie. After all, her relationship with Bill had been merely an intricate and long-term con.

But something within her wouldn't let her believe that Eric could be cruel like that. Her intuition had warned her about Rene and even Bill to a certain extent, but her instincts told her something very different about Eric. Even after what had happened in the elevator, she wanted to believe in him.

So _why_ had he talked to her? Why had he kissed her? Why had he seemed to bare a bit of his soul to her?

She shook her head a little. None of that mattered now. She had to be practical; she had to plan, and she needed to plan for the worst. If Eric truly thought she was a spy for de Castro, or even if he just thought that she was a crazy woman trying to start trouble, she'd be fired.

Sookie had some money in her savings account, but without her job at NP, she would soon be out of money and a home. She had about two-month's rent in reserve, but finding work that would pay for her room in Brooklyn would be difficult. She now had her Master's Degree in English, but she'd gotten her job at NP because of Dr. Dekker's pity and connection to Sam.

She wondered if she'd be able to get her foot in the door at any other publishing house, especially if she was fired from NP. Her palms grew cold and clammy as she thought about having to make a good impression at job interviews. Of course, the likelihood of her getting interviews was slim. She could just imagine the letters of "recommendation" from Sam and Pam: "Susanna Stackhouse is a good copy editor—if you like your employees to be odd and to alienate the rest of the staff. Oh—and she might also be a corporate spy. And crazy too."

Of course, all that could be a moot point. What if Eric had her arrested? Corporate espionage was a crime, and she had no money for an attorney. And even if she told her overworked court-appointed attorney all about her ability to read lips, would she be believed? She could imagine hours and hours of tests, gauging her ability. That thought reminded her of the many hours her mother had spent "testing" her and punishing her when she got even a single word wrong.

Sookie knew enough about the world to understand that being innocent of a crime wouldn't necessarily keep her out of prison. And—even if she could prove that she wasn't guilty, that her ability explained what she knew—she would still be arrested. She would still have to spend time in jail until she could prove her innocence by demonstrating her lip-reading ability—since there would be no way for her to afford bail. And there was no way she'd ask Gran for the money.

She closed her eyes and tried not to think of being locked into a cell for days and days with only the corner of the room to look into. She wondered if that would finally be what it took for her to truly go crazy. She figured that Claudine might be able to help her, but—then again—she'd yet to tell Claudine about her lip-reading ability. Amelia didn't know either.

Sookie stifled her tears once more as she remembered the way Eric had looked at her with such anger in his eyes. He'd looked betrayed and hurt. And she'd put that hated look into his eyes.

She cursed the fact that she had what Bill had labeled a "gift." She'd wanted to help Eric with it, and maybe she had, but whenever she used her ability, there was always fall-out for her.

Always.

The so-called "gift" was a double-edged sword.

As the subway lurched to a stop and the doors opened, Sookie noticed two new passengers boarding the train. Their hands were moving animatedly in a language that she should have been able to speak: sign language.

She watched the movements of their hands. Their language was a mystery to her, but it was beautiful all the same. She wondered what the two could be talking about as their expressions changed with their hands.

As she watched them, she couldn't help but to wonder what could have been.

* * *

From the accounts Sookie had been told by her father and Gran, she had been born "normal" enough. Her mother had gone into labor two days before her due date, and Michelle Stackhouse had been in labor for just over six hours. Sookie had weighed 7 pounds, 2 ounces at birth, and—according to what she remembered hearing from her dad before he died—she'd been a "good baby" in that she'd slept through the night almost from the start.

Everything seemed normal according to her father's point of view, and Sookie had felt true affection from the man before he died. However, she had never felt anything but hatred from her mother.

In mid-December, Sookie had tried to list all of the factors that could have led to her own mother's hatred of her. In the end, her list had three items.

The mental exercise had been precipitated by one of Sookie's trips to the MET. She'd been studying the pieces in Gallery 171. Sookie had first visited that gallery in late November; it was a huge room, containing more than 4,000 pieces of Greco-Roman art covering a long time span—from the fifth millennium B.C. to A.D. 313. It was the only gallery that Sookie had encountered so far that had taken her more than one Sunday to peruse. But she had been determined to take her time and to try to understand and get a feel for the art and the history in the gallery.

It took her three Sundays worth of visits to finish seeing everything. On the third, she became captivated by a small piece that was identified as a cameo. It was made of glass, and—according to its description—the object likely depicted Orestes returning home. Sookie loved mythology, and her time at the museum, as well as some books she'd edited, had taught her even more of it.

Orestes was the son of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon. According to myth, Agamemnon sacrificed the life of one of his daughters to the gods in return for favorable winds for the Greeks, who were sailing to Troy to fight over the abduction of Helen by Paris. Agamemnon was a true politician though, merely using the abduction as an excuse to conquer the Trojans and appease his ambition. And—eventually—the gods favored his side. But Clytemnestra neither forgot nor forgave the death of her daughter, and when Agamemnon returned home, she killed him. Some versions of the story claimed that Clytemnestra killed Agamemnon not for retribution but because she wanted to be with her lover. In those versions, Orestes had to flee as well—to avoid being murdered too.

That was where Electra came into the story. She was another daughter of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon, the one who was not killed. According to some versions of the myth, Electra convinced Orestes to help her kill their mother in order to take revenge for her father.

The psychotherapist Carl Jung had coined the term, "Electra Complex," to describe the conflict that arose between a mother and a daughter for the husband/father's affection. Sigmund Freud had agreed with some of Jung's ideas, but not the labelling of the condition. However—as a nice correspondent to the "Oedipus Complex"—the name stuck.

Having a mother like Michelle Stackhouse, Sookie had read a lot about the "Electra Complex." Whole books had been written about how mothers and daughters would be locked in competition. Many of the case studies talked about how mothers would undermine their daughters, even subjecting them to public ridicule in some cases.

Of course, understanding this phenomenon intellectually and experiencing it as Sookie had were two very different things. The cameo in the museum reminded Sookie of what she'd read about Electra and Clytemnestra. It also reminded her of Jung's and Freud's studies.

But in many ways, the cameo was more powerful to her. The object showed two men and two women. The men were Orestes and his friend Pylades, who had returned with Orestes to help him. The women were likely Electra and Clytemnestra. To Sookie, they seemed to be mid-confrontation, though they were grasping hands. One of the women was bending threateningly toward the other. In Sookie's mind, that was Clytemnestra, trying to make Electra cower. But the other woman was standing straight and tall.

As someone who had studied literature and who was learning more and more about art every week, Sookie knew that a hundred different people might look at that little cameo and interpret its story in a hundred different ways, but that didn't matter to her. She snapped a picture of it and then went home to begin her list about why her own mother hated her.

The first item on the list was the "Electra Complex."

The second item was "Grandma Bonnie." Bonnie was Michelle's own mother, and she died when Sookie was about ten. Sookie didn't know everything about her mother's upbringing, but she did know that her grandmother always had a scowl on her face for her daughter and that she was the one person that Michelle seemed to shrink from. Abandoned by the man who had gotten her pregnant, Bonnie had been an unwed mother during an era when such a thing wasn't common and was judged harshly. When Sookie knew her, Bonnie was almost militantly religious, and she obviously counted her own daughter among her sins. Sookie had seen Bonnie slap Michelle once, and seeing it had earned Sookie a hard slap of her own.

Still—Bonnie was well-liked in Bon Temps, and those in town talked of her religious devotion. As an adult, Sookie had come to understand that both Bonnie and her daughter were masters at manipulating others. In public, they portrayed themselves as long-suffering martyrs, and everyone pitied and admired them. In private, they were cruel women, especially when it came to the treatment of their daughters. Intellectually, Sookie understood that their cruelty against someone weaker was a sign of their own weakness. But as a child, Sookie only understood that Bonnie looked at her as if she should be taken into the woods and left there. Perhaps, that was why Michelle had followed suit.

Still—Michelle was greatly loved by Corbett Stackhouse, and she may have been able to overcome her own treatment by Bonnie and to become a good mother if Sookie had stayed the "normal" child she'd been born as.

However, that didn't happen. There was a third item on Sookie's list: "My disability."

* * *

[A/N: Thanks to all that continue to read and comment! Though I usually wait a week, I am going to try to post the next chapter later today or tomorrow. It was originally part of this chapter, but it got so long that I had to split it. Thus, it's almost edited, and I want you to know the rest of the story about Sookie's "disability" without having to wait for it.

Keep a lookout for it!

And remember that you can check out the cast and the art of this story by looking at: californiakat1564 . wordpress . com]


	7. Chapter 7: Electra Is Dying, Part 2

**[A/N: Once more, I want to warn you that Sookie is recalling her abuse in this chapter. It may be disturbing to some readers.]**

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**Chapter 07: Electra Is Dying, Part 2**

Though Sookie couldn't remember when it happened exactly, sometime around her fourth birthday, something changed to disturb the "normal" existence her family enjoyed. Sookie began to suffer from bad ear infections. In fact, Sookie's first memory was of sitting in a doctor's office in pain.

Having a chronically sick child had caused several immediate changes to the Stackhouse household. First, though Corbett had some medical insurance, it didn't cover all of Sookie's doctors' visits and medicines, so he had to take on a second job. After he began working three nights a week—in addition to the fulltime job he already had—Michelle became even more resentful of her daughter.

And then babysitters could no longer be found to care for the sick girl who would not stop crying, so Michelle had had to quit her own part-time job at the clothing shop owned by her mother. As might have been expected, this caused additional conflict between Bonnie and her daughter. And it heightened Michelle's disdain for Sookie, especially when Corbett had to begin working weekend shifts at a nearby factory to make-up for Michelle's lost income.

Michelle had always wanted an affluent life. She had wanted for Corbett to go to night classes, to earn his college degree, and to get a better-paying job. But—according to her—Sookie's issues prevented that.

Although Corbett continued to insist that Sookie be taken in for what Michelle later called "useless, expensive tests," Sookie's problem intensified, as did her pain from it.

However, Michelle quickly lost all tolerance for her crying child, and began to slap Sookie hard—right over her ears—if she complained or cried or made any noise whatsoever. Sookie was often shut into her room alone during the day when her father wasn't at home.

At four years old, Sookie didn't understand why she was in so much pain or why her ears seemed to buzz with static so much of the time. But she soon came to understand that crying would make her mother upset and that any complaints to her father would make Michelle Stackhouse even angrier the next day when he was at work again.

Sookie also quickly learned that—on the two evenings a week that her daddy was home—she was to keep quiet. And if he asked her, she was to lie and say that her ears didn't hurt. If Corbett spent time with Sookie on his free evenings, Michelle would slap the side of her head the next day. Sookie, to protect herself, learned to distance herself from the only one in the household who showed her love.

While Michelle had no patience or tolerance for Sookie, she had all the patience in the world for the light of her life, Jason. And Jason followed his mother's lead, treating Sookie like a pariah.

Naturally intuitive and sensitive to those around her, Sookie had learned that being quiet—disappearing even—was the only way to avoid her mother's harsh words and slaps. So by the time she was five years old, Sookie had simply learned to live with the pain in her ears as if it were a normal thing. For all she knew, it was "growing pains" just as her mother had said it was when Sookie had first complained about her ears.

Soon enough, Michelle stopped taking Sookie to specialists in Shreveport and began to take her to a local doctor, who eventually said that there was nothing that could be done for Sookie. She was diagnosed as having a congenital hearing problem, which would get progressively worse, until she could no longer hear at all.

The doctor was wrong. Sookie _had_ always heard something.

_Always_.

Buzzing and drumming. Whirring and wind. Pressure and percussion.

It was just that the sound in her own ears slowly but surely replaced all other sounds from the outside world. But she became just as accustomed to the new noises in her life as she had to the physical pain that accompanied them.

Of course, Bonnie liked to berate Michelle for having a handicapped child. Bonnie explained the affliction to Michelle as a sign that the child was not "God-loved." For her part, Michelle refused to accept the idea of having a deaf child. Words like "defective," "abnormal," "freak," and "retard"—the last coming mostly from her brother's lips—were among the most common that Sookie heard before she lost the ability to hear the words of others. Of course, all of these words were spoken to Sookie when Corbett was not at home, and, as was expected, when he was at home, Michelle and Jason both acted differently—"normally."

To Corbett, Sookie had been the one who had seemed anti-social and withdrawn, going to bed early or sitting in a corner and reading when he was home. He likely accepted her behavior as a byproduct of her disease. But he still tried to show her love, sometimes even insisting that she spend time with the family on the evenings he was home. He would sit next to her on the couch and try to find out about her days. He would bring her toys. But every kind word from him was countered by fifty harsh ones from Michelle the next day. All toys were only allowed out when Corbett was home, and—even then—Sookie was to sit quietly in a corner and "look like she was enjoying them."

In truth, Sookie became nervous about receiving anything from her father—including love—and she lost the ability to truly play with any of the objects he brought to her.

So—eventually—Corbett, weary from overwork and likely frustrated that nothing he did seemed to spur his daughter into returning his affection, stopped trying so hard to give it.

Michelle had won; Electra was dying—withering away to the point of invisibility.

As a child, of course, Sookie did not understand psychology or the implications of all the words that her mother and brother used to describe her. And she didn't have the ability to question their accuracy or her mother's treatment of her. She just felt their efficacy. As an adult, Sookie knew the being deaf didn't make a person any less intelligent or any less able to adapt and function in the world. And it certainly didn't make him or her "mentally disabled."

However, all she knew about herself was what she had been taught. The biggest lesson was learned from her mother. The only way to avoid increased suffering was to appear as if she was perfectly "normal." And any outward sign that she could not hear was met with "punishment."

Luckily, Sookie had been developing quickly before her first ear infection. She had already been speaking quite well, and she was even reading some elementary-level books on her own. When she really pushed her memories, she could vaguely recall her daddy reading to her in the early days of her sickness—while he still had hope that the hearing problems could be fixed.

Given the fact that the hearing loss started slowly and it took almost four years for Sookie to become completely deaf, she was able to adapt so that she was almost "normal."

In fact, it was difficult for anyone to "hear" a problem based on Sookie's speech. She sounded like anyone else where she was from. And Sookie adapted in other ways too. She began watching people—watching their lips and their faces to tell what they were saying when she couldn't hear them.

As soon as the town had learned that the little Stackhouse girl was going deaf, the pity had started. Sookie hated it, but Michelle thrived on it. In public, Michelle would lament about the difficulties of raising a "handicapped" child. In public, Michelle didn't show her disdain for Sookie's "handicap."

However, in private things were different. While Sookie still retained partial hearing, she was yelled at because Michelle wanted to make sure that Sookie could hear it. And the little girl was also slapped or spanked or shaken almost daily. But no one ever saw the evidence of it; Michelle was too careful for that. The only people who ever witnessed the abuse were Bonnie and Jason. Bonnie would look on approvingly, and Jason was told that Sookie deserved it for being so abnormal.

Sookie had kept silent about the physical and mental abuse. It was normal to her, after all. And she didn't want to be punished even more. Thus, Sookie had stayed in the shadows as much as she could, trying to appear like any other child—at least in her language skills.

In fact, it was a while before Sookie's school teachers or her father figured out that she was completely deaf. Sookie remembered hearing her last "outside" noise, the scrape of a chair on the floor, when she was around ten years old. But it was another year before anyone other than Michelle knew that Sookie heard nothing from the world anymore.

When they did figure it out, her teachers suggested that Sookie learn sign language. Michelle had put her foot down, citing the fact that Sookie was obviously perfectly capable of functioning without a language that would just make her seem more abnormal. Plus, no one else in town knew how to sign.

Corbett tried to convince Michelle that they could learn sign language with Sookie, but Michelle had cried and complained that they already had so little time to spend together as it was. But when Corbett suggested that he cut back on work now that they no longer needed to take Sookie to doctors, Michelle lamented that she still couldn't go to work because of having to help Sookie so much with her schoolwork to make up for her handicap. In truth, Michelle just liked having the extra money. And she didn't like having to work for it herself.

Thus, instead of learning to sign, Sookie was entirely dependent upon reading lips. To do that, of course, she had to look at people closely. And as her skill to read lips increased, so too did her skill to read people's expressions, at least the ones they wore around their mouths.

"Different" was not a synonym for "unique" in the small town of Bon Temps, especially since Michelle Stackhouse was always going on about Sookie being "abnormal" or "handicapped" to all her friends, who—in turn—didn't want their own kids to play with the "odd" girl.

The paradox, of course, was that Michelle would demand "normalcy" from Sookie even as she would undermine that idea publicly at every turn.

In school, Sookie tried to be as "normal" as possible so that her teachers wouldn't have to contact her mother about any problems. "Problems" meant that Sookie would be punished in her room during the afternoons, nights, and weekends that her father worked. Sookie wouldn't have minded the punishment so much if her mother had let her read. But Michelle didn't. A chair was set facing the corner, and Sookie was left to study the drab paint—most often without having any idea about what was happening in the world behind her. She would lose all sense of time as she sat in that corner with only her thoughts of worthlessness to keep her company. It was yet another hell that she was forced to get used to, a hell that she never spoke of for fear of more repercussions.

Her brother would sometimes "help" with her punishment and would come into the room and kick her chair from behind—thus the sounds of scraping wood. Sookie learned quickly that any noise or reaction out of her would be met with a longer punishment.

And punishment meant more days staring at the corner. So she just sat in the chair—as still as she could be, hardly even breathing.

After Uncle Bartlett had been left with Sookie several times, the little girl endeavored never to misbehave—to do anything it took to appear normal, just so that she could avoid staring into that corner.

Uncle Bartlett would come up behind her while she was sitting in her little chair and watching the corner. He would touch her as she sat there, trying to be still and quiet and to disappear into the paint of the joining walls. At first he would only touch her shoulders. And then it was her breasts, which were still flat against her chest. Then it was her other private parts, though always over her clothing. Finally, it escalated to the point that he would take down his pants and make her touch him—all as her eyes stayed glued to a spot in the corner. Thankfully, it never escalated beyond that, though Sookie was certain that it would have eventually—given the fact that he had been doing more and more each time he babysat her from the time she was eight to the time she was ten.

Even at her young age—before Uncle Bartlett was incarcerated for molesting Sookie's cousin Hadley—Sookie had known that what he was doing was wrong, but she'd never spoken of it. Not even when her father asked Sookie about Uncle Bartlett after the pedophile's arrest did she say anything about what he'd done. That would have angered her mother, so Sookie lied and told her daddy that she'd never been alone with Uncle Bartlett and that she'd only seen him when she was with her mother and Jason watching cartoons in the living room.

Of course, almost everything about her story was a fabrication, given the fact that Sookie was not allowed to watch television when her father wasn't at home—unless, of course, her mother was "testing" her lip-reading ability. The only true thing about the story was that she hadn't seen Bartlett in her bedroom—because her eyes had been fixed into the corner.

By the time she was eleven or so, Sookie had become so good at appearing normal in her classes that her teachers no longer found anything to complain to her mother about. That was also why she'd perfected what became known as her "crazy Susan smile" so that her teachers wouldn't call her mother to say that they thought she was maladjusted. "Maladjustment" got Sookie slaps and the corner and the chair. And two notices from the same teacher meant that she would receive a spanking with the belt as well. So Sookie learned to smile so that she could fool the person who was potentially her worst enemy—a teacher who actually cared enough to want to talk to Michelle Stackhouse.

Beginning in Kindergarten, the other children in school were wary of her—as children often are of "different" things. More and more, Sookie had to read their lips to "hear" them, and their reaction was to make fun of her for "staring like a retard." Eventually, she learned to watch without being seen, by using her peripheral vision or by just sitting in the back corner of the room.

At twelve years of age, she even made a friend, a girl named Tara Thornton, who was also made an outcast by the other students. Tara's mother had been put in jail for public drunkenness, and that had set off the kids' radar to tease her.

But Sookie had been brave one day and had stepped in, giving the kids a "better" target to taunt. So they'd left Tara alone. Whenever she saw Tara being teased during lunch or recess after that, Sookie would step out of the shadows and into the line of fire. At first, Tara had joined in with the other kids' taunting of Sookie, but Sookie was used to the abuse, so she didn't mind. Even as a pre-teen, she recognized that Tara was teased less when she was one of the teasers. Sookie couldn't blame the girl.

A few months later, Tara stopped participating with the others. And a few months after that, Sookie received a note from the girl—a note offering friendship. After that, the two girls had secretly met in the woods during the weekends since their houses were close to each other's. Sookie would grab books and snacks from the kitchen and would leave the house on Saturdays before her mother woke up. She'd stay in the woods until her dad was due home, and Tara would often join her at the big boulder that Sookie liked to sit on in order to take in the sun.

Sookie hadn't even minded that Tara didn't want to be seen with her at school. After all, the kids had finally "forgotten" about Tara's situation, and Sookie was always fun for them to toy with, given the fact that she could hear nothing that they said behind her back.

As Sookie got older, Michelle stopped making her endure the corner punishment as often; instead, Michelle would make Sookie do most of the cleaning and the cooking, but Sookie didn't mind that so much, especially since Michelle was often out and Jason was always with friends.

Between the time that her uncle went to jail and her fourteenth birthday, life became a tolerable routine for Sookie. However, the day before she turned 14, her father died of a massive heart attack. Michelle blamed Sookie for her father's death, saying that she had been the one responsible for all his extra stress and work.

And for two long years after that, Sookie's life was pure misery. She went to school and to church, but other than that, she was trapped at home—this time with her mother present. Sookie was no longer allowed to leave the house on Saturdays. Instead, she was forced by her mother to take care of all the cooking and the housework, since Michelle no longer needed to keep up appearances when Corbett was home. Meanwhile Michelle drank away Corbett's life insurance money.

During this time, Michelle would often yell at Sookie while shaking her so that she could "hear" her words. And, of course, these were the years of Michelle's "special punishments." The incident with Rene was just one of them.

Another was the day that Michelle forced Sookie to open and then burn the birthday present that her father had bought for her before he died. It was a charm bracelet. After it was charred and partially melted in the fire, Michelle made Sookie put its remains in the trash.

Meanwhile, Jason grew up loved and confident—arrogant even. He was a wonderful athlete and beloved by everyone in school. He was the kind of student who could charm a teacher into giving him a passing grade even if he didn't earn one.

Though very smart, Sookie quickly learned that getting grades that were too good was bad because it made Jason look bad. So Sookie forced herself to be a C student, missing questions on purpose in order to maintain that average. Despite her classmates and her self-imposed mediocrity, however, Sookie loved the refuge of school.

Things changed for the better when Sookie was sixteen. Michelle began dating Mac Rattray, who was more than happy to embrace Jason, but more than a little nervous about being around "Crazy Susan."

A few months later, Sookie came home to find that her clothing had been packed up and she was being sent to live with Adele Stackhouse, her father's mother. Adele—or Gran as Sookie was asked to call her—was newly returned to Bon Temps after living in New Orleans with her late husband Earl. Sookie had apparently met her paternal grandparents several times when she was an infant, but she didn't remember them. There had been some kind of falling out between Corbett and his parents, and they'd not been to Bon Temps for years. Sookie had "met" her grandmother for the first time outside of a grocery store, though she'd not known that they were related at the time.

Michelle had told Sookie to mind the older woman as if her word was the law and warned of the consequences if she didn't do so. Sookie was to help take care of Adele in her old age and secure the inheritance of the Stackhouse money so that it would come to Michelle.

Michelle also warned Sookie not to "get too comfortable," threatening that—at any minute—she might be forced to return home. And—of course—Sookie had been told to say nothing about how things were in Michelle Stackhouse's household.

So, understandably, Sookie had entered Gran's house on eggshells. And when Gran had shown her maternal love, Sookie hadn't really known what to do except smile her crazy smile and wait for the other shoe to drop. But it never had. Gran had—with her warmth—eventually helped Sookie to feel "safe" in her home—or at least as safe as she could feel.

There were still sleepless nights as Sookie looked into the dark and imagined her mother waiting to take her away from Gran. There was still the impulse in Sookie to do everything perfectly—to not cause any trouble whatsoever—so that Gran wouldn't send her away. But her life at Gran's was exponentially better nonetheless.

The summer she turned seventeen, Gran took her to a doctor in Nashville who specialized in hearing problems. Things moved quickly after that when the doctor said that new technology had been developed which made Sookie's hearing problem operable. And—even though Michelle had, at first, fought Sookie's getting surgery because it was a "waste of money"—she eventually agreed to sign the consent form after a long talk was had between Gran and her. Gran had paid for the surgery. And Sookie suspected that Gran had paid Michelle to sign the form too.

Not surprisingly, Michelle had not come to the hospital when Sookie had her surgery; Gran had. So Gran's voice was the first one that Sookie was able to put into her memory after more than a decade of little more than buzzing, whirring, throbbing noise.

It was a beautiful sound.

By the time Sookie could hear again, Jason was already at LSU on a scholarship for football. Right before her senior year began—right after the surgery—Michelle said that she wanted Sookie to move home, but by then, Gran had intuited a lot of what had happened to Sookie as a child, even though Sookie never spoke of it.

Gran made a deal with Michelle—a deal that the teen didn't know the details of. But the end result was that Michelle agreed to let Sookie stay with Gran.

Although she was once more among the hearing, Sookie was still stigmatized by the kids during her senior year of high school, though it wasn't as bad as it had been before. It seemed that old habits died hard for everyone involved. They still relied on Sookie for an easy target, and Sookie still relied on lip reading to "hear."

Moreover, regaining her sense of hearing came with problems all its own. It took her a long time, for instance, to become used to the jumbled noises of a crowd, and that was what high school consisted of: a never-ending series of jumbled noises.

However, Sookie made it through, and Tara was free to be more of a public friend to her. Lafayette, Tara's cousin, soon joined their small circle after he came out of the closet. So Sookie found herself with two friends—two!—during her senior year. She also had a new nickname from Gran: Sookie. Tara and Lafayette called her that too. And the new name made Sookie feel almost new—at least sometimes.

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Sookie was shaken from her thoughts as she saw that the subway was nearing her stop. She teetered a little on her higher-than-usual heels and walked toward the door, even as she looked at the people around her. Finding no potential threats from the words she saw coming from their mouths, she relaxed a little and then exited the subway. It was only a one block walk to her apartment, but she hurried nonetheless, both because of the hour and the cold.

Sookie was glad that no lights were on as she approached the house. That meant that Amelia wasn't home. Quickly, Sookie went inside, locked up, and went to her bathroom. She took off her scarf and put it into the sink, along with a little laundry detergent. She said a little prayer that her mascara stains hadn't set. Then she went into her bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Amelia had become a friend to Sookie—her only one in New York. But Sookie knew that Amelia would question her about the party, and she didn't really know what to say about it.

She didn't really even know what to think about it!

Her thoughts went back to Eric Northman. He had kissed her!

And he'd talked to her and he'd held her hand. And then he accused her of being a spy when she shared information that she'd gleaned because of her ability to read lips, an ability that Amelia didn't even know about.

How could she share any of that with Amelia?

Oh—and, of course, there was the other news of the night—from the conversation she'd "overheard" between Sam and Pam. But it was just more of the usual. Everyone in her office thought she was a freak and wanted her gone, but since she was good at her job, she wasn't going to be fired—only moved to a private office near the elevators so that no one would ever have to see her. And that was only _if_ she still had a job. Eric might have been planning to fire her even then—or maybe the police were on their way to arrest her for insider trading or spying or God only knew what.

She looked at her bedside clock. It was after midnight, and—even with the time difference—it was too late to call Gran. And what would she tell her even if she could call? "Hello—I might be arrested soon. I just wanted to say goodbye." In the end, Sookie decided that it would be best not to bother Gran.

She bit her lip. She could call Lafayette, but he was likely working. And she didn't even have Tara's number anymore. Tara had broken all ties with her at their high school graduation when Sookie had warned her friend not to trust the man she was dating, Mickey. Tara had been in love with him, but Sookie had "overheard" him speaking to one of his friends about his plans to start "putting Tara in her place" once she finally gave up her virginity to him. When Sookie had said something to her friend, Tara had accused her of lying and being jealous.

And that was it for their friendship.

She'd almost lost Lafayette in the situation too—since Lafayette was Tara's cousin, but he'd agreed to keep up their friendship as long as Tara didn't know about it. When Mickey did begin to abuse Tara to the point that she separated from him, Sookie tried to reconnect with her first friend, but Tara had declined the olive branch. That had been more than six years before.

Not having anyone to call about her situation, Sookie sat on her bed and removed the black pearl earrings she was wearing. They'd been Gran's—given to Sookie when she got her Master's Degree the year before. Getting them had given her an excuse to get her ears pierced. The earrings were the only truly valuable thing Sookie owned—at least in a monetary sense—so Sookie carefully returned the jewels to their pouch and then placed them into her nightstand.

Next, she slid off her heels and put them into her closet. She took off her dress and carefully hung it up after determining that it didn't need to be dry-cleaned yet. Her fancy and no-line-generating bra soon met the laundry basket, and she slipped into flannel sleep pants and a long sleeve T-shirt since her room was a little chilly in the winter. She also put on some thick socks and wondered if the police would let her grab a sweatshirt and shoes if they came for her. Deciding they might not, she went ahead and put back on her bra and a sweatshirt. She placed her tennis shoes next to the bed. She contemplated sleeping with them on, but finally decided to go for comfort over practicality in this one case.

She knew that she should have brushed her teeth, but for once, she skipped the habit since she still tasted Eric a little. Heck—to be honest—her lips still tingled from his kiss, and she wasn't about to waste that, whether she was headed for jail-time or not. She turned off her overhead light and took a deep breath as she looked at her nightlights; she had one in every electrical outlet. She'd never been good at sleeping, especially after her father died. Several times, she'd woken up to find her mother watching her as she slept. Sometimes she wondered if Michelle Stackhouse had contemplated killing her in the dark.

When she'd been unable to hear, Sookie knew that people could sneak up on her. And that thought frightened her more than almost anything. But even after she'd regained her hearing, she was afraid to sleep in the dark.

As she lay back, she allowed her kiss with Eric to replay again and again in her mind before she went to sleep. She decided to worry about the fact that she likely didn't have a job anymore on Monday morning—or when the police came.

Whatever happened first.

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**[A/N: Thanks so much for continuing to read! I hope that the last two chapters have helped you to better understand the Sookie in this story. She has had a very hard time of things, but she's a survivor. If you want a preview of what's coming next, please leave a comment (and be sure to tell me if you don't want one too.**

**See you next week!**

**Kat]**


	8. Chapter 8: On the Outside

**Chapter 8: On the Outside**

_As she lay back, she allowed her kiss with Eric to replay again and again in her mind before she went to sleep. She decided to worry about the fact that she likely didn't have a job anymore on Monday morning—or when the police came. _

_Whatever happened first. _

_**Sunday, January 15, 2012**_

When Sookie woke up the following morning, she was happy to find herself still in her own bed, rather than in a jail cell—or a padded cell for that matter. She grabbed her bathroom bag, her towel, and her robe, and then she went across the hall to her bathroom; it was also the guest bathroom, which was why she kept her personal items out of it.

She quickly went to the bathroom, showered, combed and dried her hair, brushed her teeth, and put her hair into a ponytail. She managed to avoid her eyes in the mirror the whole time.

Her bathroom requirements met, Sookie cleaned up after herself and returned her things to her room, making sure to hang up her wet towel on the hook on her closet door. Then, she dressed in her usual Sunday clothing for winter: blue jeans, a long-sleeve T-shirt, thick socks, and a sweater. She had quickly learned—especially given the thinness of her coat—that layers were a must in New York during the winter.

She sighed. Part of her wanted to cancel her usual "date" of going to the MET, but she had been looking forward to visiting Gallery 111 since she'd picked that number out of her jar the day before. The gallery housed some Egyptian art from 1800 to 1500 B.C., and she'd promised a report on the gallery to Gran too, so she put on her tennis shoes and grabbed her coat.

Amelia was—again—nowhere to be found, so Sookie left a quick note in the kitchen and then headed back toward the subway. Truth be told, the note was as much for the police—if they came looking for her—as it was for her housemate, given the fact that Amelia usually didn't come home on Sundays until almost midnight.

Sookie got off at her stop at a little after 9:00 and walked the few blocks to the MET. The coffee shop across the street provided her breakfast, which consisted of a blackberry scone and a small latte. Though the morning air was cool, the sun was out and warm, so she sat on the steps outside the museum. As she ate her treat, she watched the tourist families milling around as they waited for the museum to open.

As usual, the tourists were all anxious to get into the MET, which opened at 9:30 on Sundays. The family closest to her consisted of four members: parents and two little girls skipping around on the steps excitedly. Sookie smiled and closed her eyes. She swore for the millionth time that if she was ever to have a child, she would love him or her unconditionally. She was frightened of passing down her hearing problem, which had been connected to genetics, but she was determined to protect her child if she ever had one. Meanwhile, she just enjoyed the sounds of the kids playing and climbing up and down the steps as their parents watched over them.

She closed her eyes and let herself indulge in her usual fantasy. In it, she was sitting exactly where she was now, but she was not alone. A family surrounded her. However, this time—instead of a faceless, amorphous man—she saw Eric in her daydream. He was holding a blond-haired, blue-eyed infant who looked just like him. Two other similar-looking children milled around them—all smiling at her. She smiled back at them and felt her throat tighten at their beauty. She looked down at the hand of the fantasy her and saw that it was enclosed in Eric's larger hand. She could feel the warmth of it, though that feeling was probably from the coffee she was holding. Regardless, she let herself imagine that it was from his encompassing touch.

She even let herself _like_ it. Of course, she didn't let herself _hope_ it. The daydream lasted only for a few moments before memories of her mother telling her that she would never find anyone stupid enough to want her entered into her mind. Sookie's eyes popped open and focused on the cup of coffee that was truly warming her hand. She put it down for a moment, just so that she could get the fantasy out of her head. She noticed that the family that she'd been watching was gone now; thus, the museum must have opened.

"All pretend," she said to herself, mouthing the words, rather than giving them any volume. Her indulgences into fantasy always ended the same way—with her mother's voice pointing out their impossibility—but Sookie usually didn't feel loss as they slipped away; however, for the first time, she felt a sense of longing in a part of herself that she didn't even know existed until she felt the warmth of Eric's hand the night before. His touch had been a spark, but now she felt the fire dying. Too soon.

"All pretend," she said to herself once more.

Sookie shook herself out of her thoughts and finished her latte; she indulged in "eating out" only once a week—for her Sunday breakfasts and lunches—so she was determined to enjoy the moment. As soon as she was done, she got up and went into the museum.

She'd come to know the Sunday morning guards—at least the two who were always at the front door—and she handed them a bag of their favorite treats from the coffee shop. As her weekly assignment from Claudine suggested, she spent a few seconds speaking with the two, whose names were John and Milos.

Then she headed for her destination, taking out her small composition book and pen as she went. She knew right where she was going, having been to the MET so many times. However, it had not been long before that the massive museum had overwhelmed her.

Using portions of her first and second paychecks from NP, Sookie had been able to buy a year-long pass to the MET on March 6, 2011. She'd spent her first day roaming around aimlessly, her mind eventually becoming fatigued by all that she was seeing. After that, she developed a plan: one gallery per Sunday. She started with the ten Northman galleries, and then she wrote down all the numbers of the active galleries on slips of paper, which she'd pull out of a jar each Saturday. She also kept her eye open for temporary exhibits she was interested in. She would prioritize those so that she wouldn't miss them.

Her composition book was for notes regarding the pieces she liked and wanted to remember for some reason or another. Her phone, which also served as her camera, would be pulled out only once during the day. From every gallery—no matter how big or small—she always took only a single picture. She took it of the piece that most struck her—not necessarily her favorite, but the one that stood out to her the most. When Sookie had told Claudine about her project the first week they'd spoken, her therapist had encouraged her to continue doing it and had asked about Sookie's chosen piece each subsequent Tuesday—except for the week after Christmas, since the MET had been closed that Sunday.

That week, Gallery 111 was on Sookie's agenda. As usual, she took all morning perusing the gallery, but by lunchtime, she had narrowed down her "favorites" to two items. The first was from the Twelfth Dynasty—a sculpture of a wildcat. She was drawn to the cat for a simple reason: she had always wanted a pet. Jason had had several puppies as he'd grown up, but Sookie was punished if she touched them. She had always wondered, however, what it would be like to give affection to and to receive affection from an animal. Jason had seemed to love his dogs—and they him. Unfortunately, Amelia was allergic to cats, so that eliminated Sookie's opportunity to have one as long as she lived with Amelia.

Then again, there was another piece in the gallery that was tugging at her too. It was called a "magic wand" and had been made out of a hippopotamus tusk. She liked all the carvings in the object, as well as the meaning behind it.

By 12:25, she was done with her first walk-through of the room, even though she hadn't yet picked her "favorite" for the day.

Unless it was raining, Sookie always left the MET to get lunch in the park before returning to the same gallery in the afternoon so that she could enjoy the art one last time and then take her picture. However, that Sunday, she broke her routine. She climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked to the south of the building, where she would find the European paintings and the Northman Galleries. She made her way to Gallery 823 and stood in front of _Wheat Field with Cypresses_. She studied the painting for several minutes, first the gold of the wheat and then the blue of the sky.

She let her mind rove to the blues of Eric's eyes and then—once again—she let herself relive her kiss with Eric.

It had been the single best moment of her life.

And that thought scared her on so many levels. Sookie's needs—both physical and emotional—had always been few. She'd grown up in a world where "happiness" wasn't permitted to her, though she'd had moments that were better than others. For instance, her daddy was always nice to her, but Sookie had known that if she got too close to him or if he spent too much time with her, then her mother would get angry. And that meant she'd be put into the corner when he wasn't there, so Sookie kept to herself, even around him. Still—his being in the house was like a reprieve for her. She could read without disturbance and even quietly sit in the living room and watch television with the family—the mother, the father, and their son.

Her daddy even tried to include her to a certain extent by making sure that the television was on "closed captions" when he was home. Her mother hated when he did that. But Sookie loved it. That small action proved that he cared for her. And it helped her to become a fast and exact reader too.

Moving to Gran's house had offered her so many more pleasant experiences. Gran loved to bake, and she taught Sookie all she knew. And the level of freedom Sookie got at Gran's was incredible! She was able to go into any room she wanted and watch television whenever she liked. She was even able to choose programs to watch, though she always deferred to Gran when she was at home. When she wasn't, however, Sookie chose what to watch, and she wasn't punished for having the television on when Gran was gone, which was another big change for her.

No longer afraid of her mother's punishments for excelling and because of Gran's encouragement, Sookie was able to improve her grades from straight C's to straight B's during her senior year. Getting out of the habit of underachieving completely had taken her a bit longer to do.

The best thing that happened at school, however, was that the teacher who directed the high school's newspaper asked Sookie to be the copy editor after the person who had been doing it abruptly quit. That was her first copy editing job. She also excelled on the SAT, which was how she found herself with a full scholarship to the University of Mississippi—since her overall GPA was mediocre at best. Once more encouraged by Gran, she'd left Bon Temps, even though she was sorry to leave Gran.

Getting away from a place where she had been stigmatized helped Sookie to start a better life. As would be expected, she was socially stunted, and she still had the propensity to read lips, instead of to listen to others with her ears, which made her seem a little "off" to those around her. Not really knowing much about how to talk to people or to make friends, Sookie hadn't fit in with the people in her classes. Still—they didn't know about her history, so it was better. The best thing was that none of them bullied her. Many of her classmates gossiped about her "strangeness," and Sookie could tell that none of them really liked her that much, but mostly, they just ignored her.

Working steadily, Sookie finished her bachelor's degree in four years, and Dr. Dekker helped her to stay to get her master's degree in English. After that, she was pretty certain that she would have gotten her doctorate degree because she loved being a student, as well as reading and analyzing texts. During her sophomore year at Old Miss, she decided on her career goal: copy editing. It wasn't a glamorous job—by any means. But it still made Sookie "happy" to know that she was good at something.

It was during her first year of graduate school that she met Bill Compton, and she could point to some of her times in that relationship as being "happy" too. Despite the way their relationship ended, she had enjoyed being part of a couple. She had all of her "firsts" with Bill too. The first time she held hands, it was with him. The first time a guy kissed her, it was him. The first time she had sex, it was with him. The first time a guy told her that he loved her, it was him.

When Bill asked to travel to Bon Temps with her to meet her family, Sookie had been terrified—afraid that her mother would tell Bill something that would make him not want her anymore. Sookie had already told Bill that she could read lips, and he knew that she'd been deaf for much of her life. He even knew that her relationship with her mother was strained. But she'd never spoken about what her childhood was like in any detail. Of course, Bill and Sookie stayed at Gran's, and the elderly woman had approved of his Southern manners immediately. More surprising was the fact that her mother had approved of him. Bill had insisted that they go out to eat with Michelle once during their visit, and she had treated Sookie "nice" during the meal.

Being with Bill had made Sookie "happy"—maybe not the kind of happy that she'd read about in fairy tales or love stories. But it was a kind of satisfaction. She'd thought that he cared for her, and that was something she'd rarely experienced. So she'd fallen in love with Bill—at least as much as she was able to love.

How could she not?

But everything changed when she learned the truth about why he had pursued her from the start. So every happy memory she had with him had suddenly become something to question and doubt.

She sighed. If she was being honest with herself, there had always been something "off" about Bill. Her instincts had sent warning bells to her from the day she met him. She had spent her life studying people, and Bill seemed "too perfect"—"too careful." Looking back, she realized that he hardly ever had a conversation with someone beyond the weather, sports, or politics when she was in range to "read" him. And—most significantly—Bill's lips often curved in unexpected ways when he spoke to her.

When he would tell her that he loved her, she would read hesitation and something akin to guilt in the way his mouth would curve downward a bit. When she would try to initiate any kind of physical affection, his upper lip would rise for just a second, signifying contempt; however, when _he_ initiated their physical interaction, it would not. There was caution in the rate at which his words flowed from his mouth. Sookie had chosen to ignore these things, rejecting the tell-tale signals that her years of reading lips had enabled her to see. She comforted herself with the knowledge that the shape of his mouth never indicated pity or anger, and sometimes there was a softness to his expression that she decided must be love.

So she had loved him back—giving him every single piece of her heart that she had been working to excavate since she'd left her mother's house. She ignored any reservations she felt and tried to "be" a woman that he would want—to act like the "genteel Southern girl" he seemed to desire for her to be. Even when Lafayette visited her once and told her that he'd seen Bill being "a little too cozy" with another woman, Sookie had let Bill explain that situation away. Of course, when Sookie learned the true, her heart had become buried in rubble again.

So—yes. She'd had a lot of nice moments in her life: with her daddy, with Gran, with Bill, with Lafayette, with Tara, with Amelia, and even alone on her boulder and at the MET.

But her short time with Eric had moved like a rocket to the top of the list. His mouth had lifted and curved and fallen and straightened in ways that completely matched his words. But for the first time that she could remember, her focus was not on his lips. It was on his eyes, which had been powerful enough both to connect her to him and to _keep_ her connected.

His eyes—both before and after their kiss—had been open to her. Honest. She wasn't sure she had liked everything she had seen in them, but she liked the fact that nothing had been hidden. Nothing was held back. The kiss itself had literally changed her life. One minute she was a girl who didn't really understand intense passion; the next she wasn't. One minute she was a girl who had never been kissed by a guy who truly desired her—just her. The next she was such a girl.

Oh—she wasn't about to believe that Eric Northman had loved her at first sight. After thinking about it on the subway ride to the MET, she was pretty certain about what would have happened between her and Eric. Her fantasies notwithstanding, everything seemed clearer and crueler in the cold light of day.

For whatever reason—maybe novelty—Eric had desired her. He would have had her too. She would not have denied him. She could almost see herself gathering her clothing for a quick exit in the early morning hours in Eric's bedroom or—more likely—the suite of some hotel. Or the backseat of a limo. Or maybe even just a stairway at the MET. In actuality, she had no idea where men like Eric had sex, but she was quite certain that she would have found out the night before if she hadn't "overheard" de Castro and Madden speaking.

Sookie could envision herself making her way to the subway station nearest to where she'd ended up with him. She could see herself traveling home on an almost-empty subway due to the late hour. She wondered if Eric would have even remembered the name he'd fought to pull from her the night before. At least, he wasn't likely to forget it now, she thought, as she left Gallery 823.

* * *

_**Earlier that morning**_

Eric Northman stared at Sookie Stackhouse from across the street. He could see only a sliver of her profile, but—even with her golden hair in a ponytail—he felt certain that he would have recognized her anywhere.

He had only one question: Why? Of course, that question applied to about a million different topics in that moment.

Eric had not intended to return to the MET that morning, but at 5:00 a.m., when he finally decided that sleep wasn't going to come, he got up, showered, dressed for the day, and left his home in the Upper West Side. He'd walked east, slowly strolling the blocks until he entered Central Park at West 90th Street. He walked along the south side of the Jackie O. Reservoir and exited the park at East 84th Street just north of the MET.

He'd walked unhurriedly for hours, and he'd not even registered his destination until he was standing in front of it. He approached the MET entrance and saw that the doors would not open until 9:30. Since it was only 8:30, he decided to grab a coffee and something to eat at a nearby coffee shop.

He had almost been done with his enormous cup of coffee and his newspaper when Sookie walked into the coffee shop, her cheeks reddened from the cold and her pony tail swinging slightly with the sway of her hips.

She had taken his breath away.

Eric had made sure that he was out of sight behind his newspaper as Sookie's eyes scanned the side of the shop that he was in. He watched her order a coffee and three pastries and then leave the store.

As if compelled to do so, he had followed her. And now he was watching her like some kind of fucking stalker from across the street. He told himself that it was only because he was suspicious of her, but—in truth—he was intrigued by her. Fascinated.

* * *

[A/N: Thanks for sticking with me! I appreciate all readers and all reviews/comments! I'll try to have the next chapter, which will continue with Eric's POV sooner than next weekend.

Have a wonderful day! And remember that you can see the art and characters on my WordPress site (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com).

Kat]


	9. Chapter 9: A Cancer

**Chapter 9: A Cancer**

As Eric watched Sookie, he quickly realized that her eyes were sharp, and she kept herself well-aware of her surroundings, so—even from across the wide avenue—avoiding her gaze was difficult, especially since he wasn't exactly inconspicuous. Even though he was wearing clothing that helped him to blend in and a dark gray skull cap, which hid his blond hair, at 6'4", Eric stood out from a crowd. Once Sookie settled onto one of the steps of the MET and began to eat, however, she focused more on the people near her, so Eric was able to cross the street and get closer.

Plus, Eric was well-versed in the practice of being unseen when he wanted to be, so he did what he did best. He kept to the shadows and studied the woman who had so captivated him. He needed to find out what made her tick. He needed to find out how she could hurt him. He needed to find out why he wanted to trust her.

Why?

Only three people in the world had his trust—and they only had it to a certain extent.

The first was his grandmother—Mormor. Elsa Larsson was his mother's mother. As a child, Eric had spent his summers with her and his morfar, who had died of cancer when Eric was seventeen. Eric still visited his mormor each summer, and he loved her—as much as he dared to love anyone. He knew that he held back when it came to giving and receiving affection, but he'd learned long ago that holding back was the safest way to operate in the world—for the benefit of both himself and, especially, those around him. Despite this, however, Mormor had always been kind to him, and he would do anything to make sure that she was taken care of.

The second person he trusted—at least to an extent—was his sister, Pam. Pam was the only one of his siblings who shared both parents with him. She and Nora were the same age and had grown up together as "real" siblings, while Eric had been in boarding school most of the time. However, Pam had always spent two weeks of each summer in Sweden too. And the siblings had become closer there. She didn't know much about Eric's relationship with Appius; truth be told, Eric got the idea that she didn't want to know. She loved their father, and Appius clearly loved her, so Eric kept many things from Pam because he didn't want to lose her friendship. But—despite his reluctance to share certain things with her—he and Pam were becoming closer all the time. Pam had actually approached him with the idea that they live in the same building, so they'd bought homes a just floor apart in one of Copely Carmichael's newer high-rises on the Upper West Side near the Hudson. Hell—he'd even trusted Pam with decorating some of his home when they'd moved into their building the year before.

However, the person that Eric probably trusted the most in the world was Bobby Burnham. He'd known Bobby from the time that he was six and Bobby was ten. Bobby had been the son of Godric Burnham, who was the headmaster at the first boarding school Eric had been sent to. In truth, Bobby was more of a sibling to Eric than any of his own were, and in many ways, the Burnhams had been his family more than the Northmans. But it was also true that Eric held back in that friendship too.

In fact, for the last few years, Eric's relationship with Bobby had been as much about business as it was personal. Again—Eric understood that there was more "safety" in that kind of arrangement. Thus—despite any protests that Bobby made—Eric insisted upon paying his friend for any work he did for him. Bobby was a lawyer by trade—and a good one—but Eric was his only "official" client. Bobby had received a rather sizeable inheritance when Godric died and didn't need to have his own law practice. Hell—he probably didn't need to work at all.

However, Bobby still made plenty of money. In addition to working for Eric, Bobby did freelance work for the police and the FBI and sometimes even for the more "legitimate" facets of the mob—the ones that the FEDS were happy to "work with through channels" so that the overall peace was kept. Bobby was one of those "channels." To tell the truth, Eric didn't ask questions about the things that Bobby did; plus, he knew that Bobby couldn't answer them anyway.

Despite over a quarter of a century of something akin to brotherhood, there were many things that Eric kept from Bobby about Appius. By necessity, Bobby knew more than anyone else; however, Eric was wary about letting anyone too close.

At a very young age, he had learned that those who were too close to him tended to die or to be taken away. And—irrational or not—Eric truly believed that if he allowed himself to love anyone, then that person would be damaged in some way _because of_ his love. Too many people who had cared for him had suffered from prolonged illnesses for Eric to think otherwise; after all, his mother and both of his grandfathers had died after long battles with cancer. A large part of Eric didn't believe that was coincidence; he believed it was because those people had come to care for him too much. Others had abandoned Eric or withheld their affection from him long before he could infect them with whatever plague he carried inside. He could not blame them for wanting to keep their distance. And for those who didn't abandon him—Eric held himself back, hoping to protect them.

Eric closed his eyes. The first person to be taken from him had been his mother—someone whom he could hardly remember. Stella Larsson-Northman had—by all accounts—been the darling of the upper echelon of New York society. She'd been tall and modelesque, setting fashion and social trends for the rest of her class. Even as she was being eaten up with breast cancer just two years after Pam was born, it was said that she was still the picture of poise and grace. And she was throwing parties and attending events until almost the end, according to his paternal grandmother, Grace Northman. And that was saying a lot, given the fact that Grace very rarely praised anyone, except for her son, Appius.

Eric's first stepmother was Appius's age and brought with her a stepsister for Pam and Eric—Nora. Nora was officially still a Gainesborough, just like her biological father, but Appius Northman had immediately preferred her to his other children. Hell—she even looked more like him because of her dark hair and eyes. Pam and especially Eric had taken after their mother with their Nordic looks.

Nora's mother, Beth Mellon-Gainesborough, had been a widow and was quite rich in her own right. Together, they had Alexei, who was the very definition of a wild child. Appius now preferred for Alexei to stay in Europe, where he had a "handler" who kept him out of serious trouble. When others asked, Appius liked to say that Alexei was "sewing his wild oats as a young man should." But the truth was that Appius was embarrassed by Alexei.

Though it was not a love match, Appius stayed married to Beth because of Nora. However, Eric knew that his father was not terribly upset when his second wife died in a car accident in Vail. He'd been more upset that Nora had been injured in the accident.

Beth Gainesborough-Northman had served her purpose, adding to his Appius Northman's coffers and his notoriety. And she'd also given him Nora, but there were no illusions of love between the two of them.

In fact, women were not really his father's preference; however, that information was not acknowledged publically. Appius's fourth wife, Sophie-Anne was the perfect choice for what most people would call a "beard." Sophie-Anne was from a wealthy New York family, the Leclerqs. She preferred women, but she had also wanted to be wife to a power-player in Manhattan. And she was a master socialite, particularly good at party throwing. Plus, she loved being the center of attention—whether it be at a charity event she was hosting or at the opera. Despite her sexual preferences, Sophie-Anne had wanted children, and she'd already given Appius a son, Appius Junior, a child whom his father had felt was worthy of his own name.

Appius enjoyed letting Eric know that he was thankful every day that he'd not given his first son his name. Appius made it clear that he didn't feel that Eric merited such a moniker. His father had also made it clear to Eric that even after he took over as CEO in a few years, he would be running Northman Publishing only until Appius Junior was ready to run the company.

Eric couldn't really complain, however. He already knew that he would become CEO when he turned 35, and he was looking forward to running NP as he wanted to. Moreover, he was not ambitious in the same way that Appius was. He didn't seek power for its own sake. Most of the time, Eric was not even certain what "power" was, and he'd certainly never felt "powerful."

Despite all of this, however, Eric was a good businessman—excellent, in fact. Most of the people he worked with would call him a "natural." From his grandfathers, he'd inherited a mind well-suited for constructing deals that benefitted all parties involved. While Appius did business by sheer force of will and sometimes intimidation, Eric drew clients to him using reason and mutual respect.

Appius, of course, hated everything about the way Eric operated his division of the company—except for, perhaps, the profits.

Business had not been Eric's first choice for his life, but it hadn't been a choice he'd hated either. When he was younger, he'd been more drawn to architecture and to building things, but he'd settled for constructing deals instead of skyscrapers.

Of course, Eric had never had much say in his own life's plans. He'd been told that he would go to Harvard Business School, so he had gone. He'd been told that he would marry before he turned 35, so he would marry—though he was still determined to choose who and exactly when he married, even though there were restrictions about the choice he could make. He'd been told that he would have children to carry on the Northman name, so he would, even though Eric was not too keen on having children. The prospect of raising them in his world made him physically ill.

It wasn't even that Eric didn't like kids; as a matter of fact, he did. Though he didn't dare love them, he liked all of his siblings very much, except for—perhaps—Nora, whom he still tried to get along with. However, he was afraid to be a father. He wasn't sure how to be one, and he never wanted a child of his to feel as insignificant or unworthy as Appius had made him feel. Plus, he was worried that he would pass along whatever it had been which had caused his mother to die and his father to despise him. When Eric was only six, his father had told him that the cancer which killed his mother had first entered her body when she was pregnant with Eric. And though his mother had received treatment after Eric had been born, which had kept the sickness at bay for several more years, it had eventually come back to infect her again and then kill her. In effect, Appius had told the child that he was the reason his mother had died, and the little boy had—of course—believed him and internalized the blame.

As an adult, Eric knew that he should question the veracity of the notion that he had been the cause of his mother's cancer, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do that. After all, even his mormor had confirmed when the diagnosis had taken place: during the seventh month of Stella's pregnancy. She had waited until Eric was born—carrying him to full term—before she even thought about receiving treatment. Eric knew that Mormor had told him this story so that he would know just how much his mother had loved him, but it made Eric feel even guiltier. Even though Stella had gone into remission and had even had another child, Eric couldn't help but to wonder if he was the cause of her sickness and her eventual death—just as Appius had told him so many times over the years. Eric couldn't help but to wonder if he was the cancer.

Indeed, Eric worried that there was something inside of him that was rotten or defective, which was why he was leaning toward adopting any children that he had, rather than fathering them himself. Luckily, even though Appius required that Eric have children, he didn't seem to care how they were produced, for Appius knew that Eric's children would not be in line to inherit NP since Eric himself was not in line to inherit Appius's stock in the company. Eric was actually grateful that NP would pass to Appius, Jr. one day. Eric was determined to give his children at least one thing that Appius had never given him when he was a child: the ability to choose. Even though he would be too afraid to give them his love, Eric would give them the opportunity to be what they wanted to be. And he was determined to pick a wife who could lavish the children with the love he couldn't give.

Eric sighed as he looked at a family near Sookie. Two little girls were playing on the steps of the MET as a mother and a father watched over them. The couple's hands were gripped tightly together, and they were speaking to each other quietly, even as their eyes stayed mostly on their girls. Even from the distance he was at, Eric could see the love flowing between the members of the family.

Eric imagined himself in such a scene. The woman he would be sitting next to wouldn't matter in some ways; Eric hoped that she would be someone who would make a good friend and mother to his children. He couldn't imagine speaking to her intimately or holding her hand as the couple he was looking at were doing. But he hoped that the children would still be running around with smiles on their faces. Yes—he hoped that very much. But most of all, he hoped that they would never become aware that he couldn't truly love them. He would be able to show them his pride. And he would offer them unconditional support and encouragement in their pursuits. He would give them his time and his attention. But he didn't want to risk damaging a child with his love.

Eric closed his eyes for moment, and suddenly he felt warm—despite the January cold. The woman in his imagination took on the form of Sookie, and in his mind, she took his hand as well, and then she leaned her body into his. The children, faceless before then, looked back at him with Sookie's eyes and light shining from them.

He recoiled and opened his eyes, instinctively flexing his hand and finding it empty.

"No," Eric said in a whisper, not allowing himself to indulge in such an impossible fantasy for another second. "Empty," he said to himself as he looked down at his hand. "It needs to stay empty."

Eric refocused. He would begin running NP when he was 35, and he would marry someone appropriate before then—someone who could not pull feelings from him. Someone safe. He took a deep breath. He would turn 31 in February. Thus, he had almost four years to do as he wished. And then he would live the life his father wished. Perhaps, Appius would even hate him a little less if he did. And, when Appius Jr. was ready, Eric would simply step away—just as was expected of him.

"Yes," he said to himself. "That is your life."

All that Appius demanded of Eric was that he continue building the company and increasing Appius, Jr.'s legacy, and—despite Eric's original preference for doing something else—he had thrived on his work. He'd been better at it than he thought he would be, and he liked it more than he thought he would. Plus, there were now so many people counting on him—so many jobs that he was responsible for protecting.

And when he had a family, he would protect them too. He just hoped that he could find a good wife who could settle for what he had to give. In many ways, he envied his father's ability to find wives who were perfectly suited to his needs.

Eric sighed. In addition to providing Appius with an heir he could be proud of, Sophie-Anne had also been the perfect choice in a wife for him because she came with Andre, her older brother. In fact, Andre was Appius's real bed partner most nights. Officially, Andre had a room down the hall from Appius's, but that room was only used enough to _supposedly_ fool the staff and some of the family. But Eric was good at observing things, and he knew that the real "marriage" in the Northman mansion belonged to Appius and Andre. Pam also knew, given the fact that she had been Sophie-Anne's lover at one point—with Appius's prior knowledge and approval, of course.

Yes—Eric thought to himself—when it came to fucked up families, his was at the top of the list, especially given the fact that his father had tried to push for him to marry Nora—his own stepsister—just two years before. Eric shuddered a little, remembering how Appius had called him into his office and presented the idea to him.

Eric had sensed for a while that Nora was interested in him, but she was his stepsister! And Eric had always viewed her as a sibling, despite the fact that Nora had been coming on to him for years. Even though they'd never spent much time together as kids, Eric had still felt ill when he thought of his own stepsister as a potential lover. Still—he'd cowed to Appius. He'd taken Nora out a few times, but he just couldn't bring himself to do anything physical with her.

However, that changed one night when Nora endeavored to get Eric drunk—very drunk. And then she'd tried to seduce him. The encounter had been a study in awkward agony for Eric. Even drunk, it had felt wrong to kiss and to touch Nora. And before the "act" could even get started, Eric's body had rebelled and had simply stopped functioning, no matter how much Nora had tried to stroke him and suck him to get him hard.

He'd been grateful for his inability to perform and had been disgusted by what he _had_ done with his stepsister as soon as he'd sobered up—which was several days later.

The only redeeming consequence of that night had been that Nora finally decided that Eric was not up to snuff—not worth her pursuit. He'd never thought he'd be glad that he couldn't get it up, but his limp cock had done him a great favor.

Thankfully, Appius had dropped the matter once Nora lost interest in Eric. Truth be told, Appius was probably happy that the match hadn't worked out. Eric couldn't imagine that his father would truly be happy about his most treasured "daughter" marrying his most hated son.

The truth was that Eric had been merely another of Nora's relationships with somewhat taboo men; be they older, married, underage or her own stepbrother, Nora had a penchant for the forbidden.

Eric figured that the only reason why Appius had allowed Nora to pursue the match at all—beyond her whim to "have" Eric—had been his desire for his stepdaughter to be a "Northman" officially. Many years before—while Beth was still alive—Appius had made a push to officially adopt Nora, but the Gainesborough family had shown their "displeasure" at the notion. So Appius had stopped his attempt. However, Eric knew that his father still wished that Nora carried his last name. If nothing else, a marriage to Eric could have made that happen.

Eric sighed as he let himself focus on Sookie. Compared to his world, she seemed like pure light. The sunlight was bouncing off of her golden hair, making it even more beautiful than he'd thought possible. And she looked like an angel as she watched the people around her and ate her breakfast.

He knew that he shouldn't be thinking about her like that—or thinking about her at all. He knew that someone so radiant was too good for someone like him.

"I could offer you nothing but misery," he whispered to himself.

Appius required that Eric marry into a family of "substance," and given the condition of Sookie's coat, which hardly seemed thick enough to keep the cold away, Sookie didn't have much money at all. Seeing her shiver, Eric's impulse was to go to her and wrap her up in his arms, but he shook that notion from his head.

"I could offer you nothing but misery," he repeated.

He was, after all, nothing but a cancer.

* * *

**A/N: The next chapter is coming later today. I have constructed a family tree for Appius on my WordPress site (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com).**

**Thanks for reading, and remember to comment if you like what you see! ;)**


	10. Chapter 10: Why?

**Chapter 10: Why?**

Eric sighed as he continued watching the object of his fascination. Appius didn't care if Eric had any true affection for the person he married; in fact, it would likely satisfy his father more if Eric married someone who would make him miserable. That was likely why Appius was pushing that he marry Freyda de Castro, despite the fact that Eric had told him that the girl was obsessed and more than a little crazy.

Eric tried not to think about the irony that he was suddenly obsessed and a little crazy when it came to the woman he was watching. He shook his head. No—he thought—he was simply trying to protect NP. He almost believed his own lie.

To keep from dwelling on the fact that he was now officially a stalker—just like Freyda—he turned his thoughts to the beautiful brunette. When he'd first met her, Freyda de Castro had seemed like a run-of-the-mill spoiled socialite, and she'd been a tolerable fuck—certainly eager to please and be pleased, though a little on the bony side. A couple of weeks later, Eric had made a mistake in asking the girl to accompany him to a black-tie charity event; however, things had seemed normal that night too. They'd gone to the event, but had barely shared ten words with each other. After the party, they'd gone to Northman Tower for another bout of physical release. The only difference had been that Freyda asked that he take her to his home, instead of to the apartment at Northman Tower. But Eric never took women to his private residence. And he never would. It was his sanctuary, a place where he could be truly alone and at peace. At least most of the time, he could do what he wanted there, and he didn't want a virtual stranger soiling that fact.

A month later, Freyda came by his office and asked if he'd return the favor by going to a charity event with her. He'd almost accepted. However, right before he did, he caught a flicker in her eye that he didn't like. It was a look of calculation, so he decided that it would be best to cut ties with Freyda de Castro. In truth, though Freyda was beautiful, she bored him. She didn't seem that interested in—or perhaps capable of—carrying on a conversation with him, even about the kinds of casual topics that the rich enjoyed. At the event they'd attended together, he was her arm-candy, and she was his—not an unusual situation for Eric. But to continue such an arrangement, he needed to at least "like" the individual a little.

For about a year, he'd enjoyed such a mutually-beneficial arrangement with Isabel Edgington—before she went to Paris to establish an arm of her father's magazine in Europe. They'd been convenient dates for each other many times and convenient no-strings-attached sexual partners too. Whereas things were casual and interesting with Isabel, Eric had intuited that things had the potential to get complicated and messy with Freyda.

So Eric had ending things _before_ that could happen—or so he'd thought. He'd been wrong.

What Bobby called "Freyda's crazy" started with her calling him every week to see if they could attend this or that function together. Always honest about his intentions toward women, Eric had already made it clear to her that he didn't wish to continue their arrangement, a fact which he reminded her of every time she called. However, the calls eventually became even more frequent, and when Eric would be seen with someone else, Freyda left jealous rants on his voice mail when he no longer answered her calls. Then she began stalking him. After that, Eric asked Bobby to investigate Freyda, and his friend found out that she had become obsessed with a married man a couple of years before, and it had taken a restraining order to get her to back off. Eric hoped it didn't come to that for him.

Appius had only complicated matters with Freyda. Not long after she began following him, she came to the office again. Eric had told her—yet again—that she was not welcome in his life. He'd tried to be gentle about it—reminding her that he had been open about what he wanted and didn't want from her right from the beginning. She'd laughed his reminders off, claiming that he just didn't see their potential like she did—yet. When Eric informed her that he knew that she'd been following him and that he would call in the authorities if the stalking and the calls didn't stop, she'd snapped and raged at him for breaking her heart and disrespecting their "love." Eric had called security to escort her out of the building.

However, apparently Appius had been watching and listening to the encounter via the surveillance equipment he'd long-ago placed into Eric's office, and he ordered the guards to deliver Freyda to him instead. Twenty minutes later, Eric had been ordered to Appius's office where Freyda sat with a smug look on her face. Appius had told Eric that he should not only date Freyda but also marry her.

For once, Eric had denied his father outright. However, after that Appius had become Freyda's advocate at every turn. The year before, she had been invited—unbeknownst to Eric, of course—to the annual Father's Day brunch that Eric was required to attend at Appius's estate. Eric had left immediately, much to his father's disapproval. Following that incident, Freyda had seemed to lose interest, but then—out of the blue—she'd announced to the press that she and Eric were engaged. She even showed off a ring that Eric recognized as having belonged to Grace Northman, Eric's grandmother!

Eric had immediately gone to see his father, demanding to know how Freyda had gotten the ring. Appius had said that he'd taken matters for Eric's future into his own hands and that Freyda had been "decided upon." Apparently, Appius had given her the family ring and told her to announce the engagement. He ordered Eric to go along with it.

However, Eric had not obeyed. Instead, he went to the press and denied the engagement, playing them some of the rambling calls that Freyda had made to him earlier in the year. He also explained that she had stalked him and gave the press some evidence that Bobby had gathered as proof.

Needless to say, both Appius and Freyda had been enraged. But Eric stood firm. He made it clear that if Freyda contacted him again, the press would get even more recordings of her calls to him—ones that made her look even more deranged. He also said that he would call the authorities and leak information about her past stalker behavior too.

Appius's reaction had been to audit Eric's department and to create a whole load of unnecessary nightmares for Eric at work. But—for the first time—Eric didn't cave to his father's pressure.

Eric sighed as he focused once more on the woman that seemed to be pulling him to her. "Sookie," he whispered to himself, even as he knew that he'd never have her.

Eric had reconciled himself to the fact that he'd have to choose a certain kind of woman to marry—someone from the upper-crust of society. But he knew that he could do better than Freyda de Castro.

Hell—even Nora would be better than her! At least, with Nora, he could make an arrangement. Hell—to marry Nora, he wouldn't even have to sleep with her or even live with her! Although Eric was something of a "playboy," Nora was even more promiscuous. And she was also into some kinky shit that Eric was not. Thus, she would _definitely_ want her freedom. They could have a "public" marriage and go to events together, while they maintained whatever "personal" lives they wanted. Other marriages in their world operated similarly. Plus, Nora would get the Northman name, which would make Appius happy. Moreover, Nora was unable to have children due to the injuries she'd gotten in the same car accident that had killed her mother. So they would have to adopt children to carry on the Northman name.

Several times, Eric had almost approached Nora about making such an arrangement; however, one thing had stopped him. Eric couldn't imagine that Nora would want much to do with raising children, so he had decided against her as a choice. He needed a woman who could love his children since he could not.

In truth, Eric was hoping for a little bit better than Freyda _or_ Nora in a marriage. However, he didn't have any lofty notions that he would find great love or anything; he didn't even want that. He knew that the cards he'd been dealt didn't have a happy ending in store for him.

When he was younger, he used to stare at a picture of his mother and his father for hours. All the pictures of Stella and Appius had been taken down in his father's home, but there was one at Mormor and Morfar's home in Sweden. It was from their wedding day. Stella was dressed in a beautiful, full gown, her blue eyes radiant. Appius was smiling at her with absolute devotion in his eyes. They looked happy—in love. But Eric had come to understand that what he saw in the picture had led to only pain and destruction.

No. Eric was not hoping for love; in fact, he was pretty sure that love didn't truly exist. He was, however, hoping for a certain level of understanding with the woman he married.

Hell—someone like Isabel Edgington would be ideal. They got along well. They were able to talk about books and art and politics. They had similar ambitions, and both of them prioritized work over their personal lives, though he intuited that she would make a good mother. She was an excellent lover too—one of the best he'd ever enjoyed. If she wanted, they could produce children the old-fashioned way and live a comfortable life together. Truth be told, Isabel and he had already discussed the idea of marriage, and they'd agreed that if they were both still single when Eric was approaching his deadline for marriage, they'd revisit the idea and—perhaps—come to an arrangement. However, that was still four years away, and both Isabel and he were enjoying their freedom at the moment.

In four years, however, Isabel would be almost forty, and she had told him that she'd likely be ready to settle down and have children by then. In truth, a big part of Eric was counting on Isabel to eventually marry him. It would save him a lot of hassle in finding someone else tolerable. And there was no way that Appius could deny Isabel Edgington. Other than Appius himself, Russell Edgington, Isabel's father, had more influence and money than anyone in New York.

As Eric looked at Sookie, whose last name he'd discovered was Stackhouse, he couldn't help but to envy people who were able to live a "warmer" life. The night before, her skin had felt so cool to his touch, but it had warmed him all the same. She had made his heart lunge instead of just beat in its usual metronomical way. And with one kiss, she had toppled his world from its atlas. And since that kiss, she had inadvertently caused all kinds of unrealistic notions to pass through his mind—despite the fact that he had now reconciled himself to the idea that she was likely involved in de Castro's machinations. In fact, Bobby was already on the job—looking for a connection between Sookie and de Castro.

Eric couldn't help but to find it ironic that Nora had been the person who pointed out Sookie to him. Nora had called the young woman "odd." But that wasn't the right word for Sookie Stackhouse, at least not in its usual connotation. More appropriate adjectives were _perplexing_ and _inexplicable_—_astonishing_ even.

And when he had finally looked at her the night before, she was looking right back at him—as if she'd been waiting for him to do it. Too quickly, she'd turned her direct vision somewhere else, but he had known that she was still watching him.

She had been watching for something specific, but he hadn't understood what that was until five hours into his sleepless night. It had struck him like lightning as he'd been looking out into the night from his balcony. She had been looking for _confirmation_ of something. And she'd found it—in him.

Confirmation of what—he was not sure.

After his unpleasant conversation with Freyda, Eric had looked once more for the mysterious blonde, but she'd left the room by then. However, unlike the year before, he'd found her again quickly, and he'd watched her for several minutes, making sure that she didn't see him. He had to hand it to her; she was very good at moving through a room unnoticed. He hadn't seen anyone else looking at her as she sipped on her cocktail—a fact which he'd not been able to comprehend. After all, he had been so damned captivated by her that he had stealthily observed her from across a gallery—for fuck's sake!

And now all he could do was ask one question. Why? Why had he been so enthralled from the first moment he locked eyes with her. And—even before that—why had he been so fucking entranced by her golden hair that he'd dreamed of it for a year? Why?

Eric tried to think rationally. When he'd first looked at her, Sookie had struck him as lovely, but she had certainly not been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen—at least not in a conventional sense. However, her blues eyes had attracted him to her, both because of their vibrancy and because of the obvious interest with which she had been looking at him. Her blond hair—still enticing to him—was longer than it had been the year before, several inches past her shoulders, and it had a natural, soft wave to it. He figured that she was about 5'6", almost a foot shorter than him, but certainly not short—average for a woman. And her heels made her closer to 5'8" or 5'9". She looked fit, not as skinny as the stick figures that made up the majority of the women at the party, but certainly not fat.

Like the brat that she was, Nora liked to tease Pam that she was a size 4 to Nora's size 0. Sookie looked to be a little bigger than Pam. That meant that most of the women at the party would have considered her to be "big," but Eric's own preference was not to feel a woman's bones poking back when he touched her hips, and his hands already longed to touch Sookie's hips—preferably while they were naked.

Still, despite the curves of her body—or maybe because of them—Sookie didn't stand out, and her outfit for the party was certainly not meant to draw much attention—unlike most of the women's garments, which likely needed double-sided tape to be held into place. Sookie's dress was black and appropriate for the occasion, though a little conservative. It didn't hide the curves that were under it, but it didn't emphasize them either. The only thing that made the outfit noticeable at all was a light red scarf tied around her neck, but even that was not really meant to draw attention, nor did it.

As he had watched Sookie from across the gallery, Eric could tell that she was trying to convince herself to do something; he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. Her internal pep talk seemed to have worked, and Eric could make out resolution in her profile as she began to slowly move through the room. She walked gracefully, though somewhat warily: a gazelle.

Eric had followed the path of Sookie's eyes to Sam Merlotte and Pam, who were having a discussion that seemed to be pretty serious. When he looked back at Sookie, she had stopped and was staring at Merlotte and Pam. Immediately, Eric was able to discern why Sookie might make some people uncomfortable with that stare. Her eyes seemed locked in on her targets—as if she were trying to figure out everything about them using one unblinking gaze. He glanced back at Pam and Merlotte and was glad that they hadn't noticed her.

After a couple of minutes, Sookie had abruptly turned away and had gone as if in retreat-mode back into Gallery 819. Eric had followed and then watched for a while longer before approaching her. And then—within a matter of twenty minutes—she had set his world ablaze, burning down every defense that he had ever constructed so that he wouldn't be forced to _feel_ anything too strongly.

He hated to feel, but with her so near, he could do nothing else.

He truly had been shocked speechless by the effect that their kiss had had on him. What had shocked him even more, however, was the effect that her words in the elevator had had on him. It wasn't what she'd said. He was, of course, pissed off that Felipe de Castro was trying to hurt NP, both by getting hold of enough stock to affect its value and by trying to undermine the business from within. However, what had shocked him most had been his reaction to Sookie.

He'd placed his hands on her aggressively. He hadn't struck her; he would never strike a woman, but he'd taken her shoulders firmly and had even shaken her at one point. Now—as he remembered the look in her eyes—he was the one shaken. Shaken to the core. Hers had been a look of resignation, acceptance even. She had accepted that he was going to hurt her, and she was going to let him. And in that moment, he'd hated himself.

As soon as Eric had realized why he had reacted so strongly, he'd let go of her and backed away. His reaction had come because he felt his heart twist at the thought of her betraying _him_. He'd only met her that night—had spent less than twenty minutes with her all told—but he realized already that she had the ability to hurt him worse than anyone else.

Eric didn't know how he knew that, but he _did_ know it.

After he'd left her in the elevator, Eric had been relieved not to see Victor or Felipe still in the hall. He'd gone into an empty gallery and texted Bobby immediately, so that he could begin investigating the information Eric had been told about. After that, he'd found his father and told him about de Castro and Madden's plotting.

To say that Appius had been angry was an understatement. If Sookie's information was correct, de Castro's spies were extremely well-placed. John Quinn was the head of security for the whole building and had access to every camera and audio feed at Northman Tower—the exception being the ones in Appius's office, for Appius could turn off his own surveillance feed whenever he wanted.

In many ways, however, the naming of Sandy was a bigger blow to his father. The only person named "Sandy" at NP was Sandy Seacrest, who had been his father's personal assistant for five years. In fact, ironically, Appius had "stolen" her from de Castro and had enjoyed lording that fact over his business rival. However, it now looked as if Sandy's loyalties were back with Felipe—that is, if they'd ever belonged to Appius in the first place. Especially because of her history, Appius wouldn't have trusted Sandy with his deepest secrets, but he obviously felt betrayed nonetheless.

And—of course—as expected, Appius had immediately blamed Eric for the whole goddamned situation. Had Eric not rejected Freyda, Appius had seethed, Felipe would have never tried to interfere with NP. However, Eric knew better. Felipe had been looking for a reason to fuck with Northman Publishing ever since Stan Davis had influenced the Senate to give a lucrative government contract to NP over Vegas Publishing.

Luckily, however, Appius hadn't asked Eric _how_ he knew about de Castro. Eric knew that that would come later—after Appius's rage had settled down. But Eric was determined not to bring Sookie's name into it. Even if she was de Castro's spy, his inherent urge to protect her had already won out over family loyalty in Eric's mind.

After the party, Eric hadn't found a nameless girl to fuck. Instead, he'd gone to Pam's house, had a few drinks, and managed to get his sister to talk about the woman she referred to as _Susanna_ Stackhouse. Just as Nora had reported, Sookie's mere presence—apparently—had managed to turn the copy editing department onto its head, and not in any kind of good way. Pam confirmed that the disruption had nothing to do with the girl's work. By all accounts, _Susanna_ did her work beautifully. No—the problems in Pam's department seemed to stem from jealousy. If anything, the girl was too efficient—too quick. And she'd not picked up any of the other copy editors' hints to slow down either. The girl was also standoffish; Pam called her skittish and antisocial.

According to Pam, the "odd" girl spoke to her clients and even to Sam mostly through emails, in which she was—Pam admitted—extremely articulate. But _Susanna_ was not one to socialize or even give a polite nod in greeting. So the others apparently gossiped about her "strangeness." And it seemed that the gossip centered on _Susanna's_ propensity to stare at the world around her a little too long and a little too hard. Eric learned that Pam just wanted to fire _Susanna_ and be done with the drama; however, Merlotte had come up with the idea of moving her to a new office.

Eric watched Susanna/Susan/Sookie as she finished her pastry and took a drink of her coffee. A small smile moved to her lips, and Eric felt a similar one reach his before he shook his head and let a frown replace it.

The fact that Sookie had no consistent name would send up a red flag for anyone. Was she a spy for de Castro? Did she tell Eric about Felipe and Victor because she had a moment of guilt after the kiss—the fucking magnificent kiss—they'd shared? Or maybe in approaching her, Eric had caused the skittish girl to think she'd been caught, which had then elicited her elevator confession.

The more he thought about it, the more things that Eric saw about Sookie that seemed to scream that she was—indeed—a spy. She was clearly uneasy around others. She studied people carefully as if she were recording the information. Even at that very moment, she was watching people—the family that Eric had been watching earlier as a matter of fact. He positioned himself so that he could see her profile better. She was watching the family with something akin to longing in her eyes. Then she closed her eyes, and her smile came back, a beautiful soft smile.

Eric would have done anything to know what was in her mind at that moment. When Sookie opened her eyes, she set her cup down and then looked at her empty hand. It was the same hand he'd held the night before, and the memory of her soft palm pressed against his made more than just his dick stir.

The family disappeared into the museum right after 9:30, but Sookie clearly wasn't in a hurry. Instead, she finished her coffee at a leisurely pace before throwing her trash away. Her bag with the other two pastries in hand, Sookie walked up the stairs and then into the MET.

Eric followed, but kept his distance. He saw her hand the bag to one of the guards, and there was a brief conversation between them. As Eric passed through the guard station about a minute after Sookie left it, he saw that she had given the two guards the pastries.

Finding humor in the thought that Sookie had likely just "bribed" the guards into giving her free entry, Eric walked to the front desk to pay for his own admission. Her actions were "nefarious" indeed.

Eric had already lost sight of Sookie, who had disappeared into the museum, and he knew that there was no way he could find her in the giant labyrinth of the MET unless he was very lucky. So after paying, he gave his name to the attendant at the desk and told her that he needed to see the chief of security as soon as possible.

The Northmans were well-known as generous benefactors to the MET. Hell—ten of the most popular galleries in the MET were the "Northman Galleries." And many of the pieces in those galleries had been donated by John Northman, Eric's paternal grandfather, who had been a visionary when it came to art collecting. Hell—almost all of the Matisse paintings in one of the MET's current exhibitions were on loan from Appius's private collection.

There were cameras all over the museum too, and Eric was determined to spy on the young woman who was most likely spying on him and NP. However, a single question continued to nag him. Why?

Why was he so interested in her? Why did his heart beat more wildly anytime he was close to her? Why did he want to shield her—even if she was trying to hurt him? Why was he so goddamned scared of her?

Why?

* * *

**[A/N: Okay—that's all for this week! I can't believe that what I thought was one chapter turned out to be three! Thanks for reading, and I hope that you will tell me what you think. Once more, I'll be sending out previews to anyone who reviews—unless you tell me not to send you one.]**


	11. Chapter 11: Odd Like Sookie

**Chapter 11: Odd Like Sookie **

"Can I help you?" Ben Anderson asked the tall, blond man who was waiting near the front desk. The young man looked extremely familiar to the perceptive chief of security, but he couldn't quite place him.

"I hope so," Eric said. "I'm looking for a woman."

Immediately, mirth shone in Ben's eyes. At fifty years old, he was in pretty good shape, and his wife Maria made sure that he ate well and exercised three times a week in order to keep what she called his "paunch" from turning into a potbelly hanging over his belt. However, at only 5'9" and of average looks—except for a few years back in his early twenties when women had found him "cute"—Ben had never been one to attrack a lot of female attention, except for his wife's, of course. And since she was the only one who mattered, he'd always been okay with being rather run-of-the-mill in the looks department. By contrast, the man in front of Ben was almost six and a half feet tall and looked like the kind of man that Maria drooled over as she watched her "dramas."

"So _you're_ looking for a woman?" Ben grinned.

Eric nodded, not yet understanding the root of the older man's amusement.

"Forgive me for saying this, Sir," Ben chuckled, "but _you_ seem to be more qualified for _that_ particular job than I am."

Eric laughed and found himself liking the man—whose nametag read "Ben"—immediately. "Let me clarify," he said, taking off his cap and pulling his ID out of his wallet. "My name is Eric Northman, and a woman came into this museum about five minutes ago. I was wondering if you could help me figure out where she is."

Recognizing the young man now, Ben straightened his back and spoke more formally. "I'm sorry that I didn't recognize you, Mr. Northman."

With a wave of his hand, Eric indicated that an apology wasn't needed. "You ran security last night too—didn't you?" Eric asked as he remembered seeing the man at the entrance of the museum the night before.

Ben nodded.

"I recognize you," Eric said. "I think you've run the security since I started coming to the NP parties."

Ben nodded again. "Yeah—I've been running it for eight years now."

Eric put out his hand. "Well—it's nice to officially meet you. I'm afraid my father doesn't really want me involved in the planning of the NP parties, which is why I've never introduced myself to you properly before.

Ben smiled a little. He was surprised by the sincerity and warmth in the young man's expression. "Ben Anderson," he said, shaking Eric Northman's hand.

"Listen, Mr. Anderson," Eric stammered a little, "I know that this is a little irregular, but the girl I want to find is an employee at Northman Publishing."

"You can call me Ben," the head of security said. "Can I ask _why_ you want to find her?"

Eric sighed, opting to be honest with the man in front of him—at least to a certain extent. "Truthfully, she gave me some information last night that I need to find out about. And," he stopped after only one word of his sentence, suddenly not knowing how to complete his thought.

"And?" Ben asked looking at Eric a bit warily.

"And I don't know why else," Eric said, nervously running his hand through his hair.

Ben's lips twitched upwards into a little smile. "There was a time when my wife made me tongue-tied too. Hell—who am I kidding?" He laughed a little. "That woman still has the uncanny ability to make me about as articulate as a newborn when she wants to."

"Um—it's not like that," Eric said frowning a little.

"Are you sure about that?" Ben asked with a grin.

"No," Eric said after a moment's hesitation. "It _is_ like that," he paused. "But it's not," he added, wondering why he was confessing his confusion over Sookie to a virtual stranger.

"The best women are always conundrums," the older man said sagely.

"Can you help me find her?" Eric asked, trying to ignore the slightly desperate hitch in his voice.

"Follow me," Ben said after a moment of contemplation. There was something about the young man that made Ben want to help him. And Ben's first instincts about a person were almost always accurate. Eric Northman was kind and polite, but he also seemed like a man who had been knocked down a time or two and needed a hand up. Ben's paternal instincts made the chief of security want to give him that hand.

"Thanks," Eric said.

Ben nodded and led Eric into the security hub of the MET where a wall of monitors displayed an array of continuously changing views of the museum. In the room, there were six people in uniform, keeping an eye on the various monitors as they flashed from one gallery to another.

"So you're looking for a woman who came in what—about ten minutes ago now?" Ben asked.

"Yes," Eric confirmed. "A blonde. A beautiful one."

Ben chuckled. "Tony," the friendly older man said as he looked at one of the members of this team.

"Yeah, Boss?" a young man, who appeared to be about twenty-five answered.

"Come help this gentleman," Ben requested.

Tony got up from his station and walked over to a large computer terminal, which was set somewhat apart from the others. "Sure," he said good-naturedly in a very thick New Jersey accent.

"Tony's the fastest with the computers," Ben explained.

Eric nodded in understanding as he watched the young man get settled.

"Hey—aren't you Eric Northman?" Tony asked.

"Yeah."

Tony chuckled. "I guess I kinda work for you then.

Eric smiled sheepishly. "Not me. My father—maybe. He's the one who can afford the big donations. But I do appreciate your help."

"Not a problem," Tony said. "So—uh—you need to see the feed from the main entrance from ten minutes ago?"

"Yeah," Eric confirmed.

Tony nodded and pushed several buttons on the computer. It wasn't long before Eric saw himself on the screen.

"A minute or so before that," Eric requested.

"Sure," Tony said, running the video back.

"There!" Eric said, pointing to the screen when Sookie entered the museum.

"Uh—you're looking for Suzy?" Ben asked.

"You know her?" Eric responded with surprise; in fact, the only thing that didn't surprise him was that Sookie had been addressed by yet another moniker.

"Suzy comes in every week to see a new gallery—Sundays like clockwork," Tony supplied.

"She didn't pay admission," Eric observed with a raised eyebrow.

"She's got one of those yearly memberships," Tony informed him.

Eric chuckled. "I guess she didn't bribe the guards with food, after all."

Tony and Ben chuckled.

"No—but she always brings them something," Tony said.

"So you know her?" Eric asked again, this time in Ben's direction.

"Um—not really," the head of security admitted. "But she's been coming to the MET for about a year now—always the same routine, you know. We get a lot of regulars here, and we start to recognize them after a while."

"Usually the regulars are students," Tony said.

"Yeah, but they aren't around for too long, and they generally frequent just one section of the museum during all of their visits, but Suzy's different," Ben added. "We never know where she'll be going."

"Suzy?" Eric asked.

"Uh—that's just the nickname we gave her," came a female voice from behind them.

Eric turned around to look at the new speaker, but he couldn't see her face since her eyes were still glued on the monitors in front of her.

"Can we find out where she went by looking at the cameras?" Eric asked, turning back to Tony.

"Sure, but there's a faster way," Ben smiled, quickly pushing some numbers on his walkie-talkie.

"Hey, Milos?" Ben said into the receiver. "Where's Suzy going today?" There was a pause. "Got it. Thanks." He put his walkie-talkie back into his pocket. "111, Tony."

Tony pushed some buttons on the computer, and soon images from Gallery 111 were on the screen.

"There," Tony pointed at the figure of Sookie, who was studying something in one of the display cases.

"How is it that you recognize her?" Eric asked, already entranced by Sookie's figure on the screen. "Even if she comes in once a week—surely the volume of people in and out of this place would make it difficult to notice just one person."

"We _always_ remember the strange ones," the woman said with a smile in her voice.

"Doris was the first one to notice something was—uh—peculiar about Suzy," Ben offered.

"It's my eagle eyes," the woman said with a chuckle.

"We spent quite a while trying to figure out what she was up to after we first noticed her," Ben said, almost apologetically. "I even dedicated a guard to watch her specifically for a few weeks. As you can imagine, sometimes we get people in here that think they can tamper with or take."

"It's that goddamned movie: _The Thomas Crown Affair_," Tony muttered.

"And the painting in the movie isn't even at the MET," Doris added.

"Though we get asked about it ten times a day," Tony complained.

"Plus, I wasn't working here when they filmed, so I missed Pierce Brosnan's fine ass," Doris grumbled."

Ben chuckled. "Yeah. That movie definitely gave some of the crazies ideas. Course—it turned out that Suzy was harmless."

"What makes her strange?" Eric asked after a few moments, truly curious about what the group would say.

"Well," Ben started cautiously, "like I said, we get lots of students in here, and they'll usually study certain pieces real close. But—after a couple of weeks—they won't be back. We also get members that come several times a month; they visit different sections of the museum each time, but most of them are older. Regardless, they'll browse around and then move on. But Suzy is a little different. Ya see?" he said motioning toward the monitor.

Eric studied the screen. Sookie was looking closely at the pieces and making notes in a small composition book.

"She'll look around the gallery once and read _everything_ about _every_ single piece," Ben said.

"That's _before_ lunch," Tony offered.

"Yeah," Doris picked up. "She looks at _everything_—sometimes a couple of times like she's trying to memorize it. Then she leaves for a while."

"For lunch in the park—_if_ it's not raining," another guard said.

"Or snowing," Tony added.

"If the weather is bad, she eats in the cafeteria," Doris said.

"She always gets the soup and a water if she eats at the MET," Ben said quietly.

"And always a hotdog from the truck outside if she goes to the park," Doris said. "But she'll try different kinds."

"Well—food _is_ really expensive in our cafeteria," Ben said.

"Which is ridiculous since it's not that good," Doris added.

"Suzy usually takes about two hours for lunch," Tony contributed.

"When she's in the cafeteria, she writes more in her book," Doris said.

"If it's a warm day outside, she sometimes spends more than two hours in the park," Ben volunteered. "I've seen her walking around when I've taken my own lunch out there."

"And then she comes back," Tony said, "and she always goes to the _same_ gallery she went to that morning. And then she walks around the gallery some more."

"She always leaves right around 5:15," another guard—whose name Eric hadn't caught—added. "We close at 5:30."

"But at 4:00," Tony continued, "the betting pool closes."

"Betting pool?" Eric asked.

"Tony!" Ben said warningly.

"It's just good-natured fun," Tony said apologetically—and a bit guiltily. "The bets are just a way to pass our Sundays—really. It gets kind of boring hearing about the Boss's wife's cooking, Doris's kids, and Mark's boat all the time."

"Well I don't hear you contributing more than long homilies about your games," Doris said, sending him a glare over her shoulder.

"My boat's the bomb," another guard mumbled under his breath. Eric figured that one must be Mark.

"What bets?" Eric asked.

"Bets on the picture she'll take," Ben admitted with a sigh. "She always takes one and _only_ one picture in each gallery she visits."

"Doris over there is the best at guessing," Tony said, pointing to the female guard.

Eric finally got a better look at Doris when she turned around to address them. The African American woman, who looked to be in her early 40's, smiled. Eric immediately noticed that her eyes were kind and playful. "Woman's intuition," she said with a wink in Eric's direction.

Eric looked back at Sookie in the monitor. She seemed oblivious to everything else in the gallery as she stared at a case containing ancient Egyptian jewelry.

"Were the cameras on last night? During my father's party?" Eric asked in barely a whisper.

"The cameras are _always_ on," Ben said.

Eric looked at a large map of all the galleries which took up part of the wall opposite the monitors. "Will you show me Gallery 823—at around 11:15 last night?"

Ben sighed. "We really shouldn't be doing this, Mr. Northman, but since your family practically owns this place," his voice trailed off as he nodded to Tony.

"Eric—call me Eric," he said, something hopeful in his voice.

Once again, Ben's instincts were to help Eric Northman. The head of security gave the young man a little smile and a nod. He had to stop himself from giving him a hug; the blonde looked like he could use it.

Tony pulled up all the cameras from Gallery 823 for the time Eric had indicated. "There's nothing at 11:15, and the cameras are motion-activated. I'll search for any feeds from around that time," he said.

Eric nodded and watched as a recording reading 11:21 p.m. began.

"Wow—is that you with Suzy?" Tony asked, leaning in to look at the video feed. "She cleans up real nice."

Several other guards in the room looked toward the screen and mumbled something along the same lines. Meanwhile, Eric just watched the video of Sookie and himself, feeling almost as affected by the recording as he had felt in front of her the night before. It wasn't long before he was kissing her.

"Damn," Doris said. "Da-yum!" she repeated emphatically as the kiss went on.

"Nice," Tony muttered.

Eric ignored them and watched as the Sookie in the video gripped him tighter and tighter. Then he watched himself seeming to sputter as he looked for words to say to follow up that kiss. He saw her back away from him, and even though he couldn't see her eyes in the video, he vividly remembered the moment her blue orbs had moved from passion and surprise to insecurity and uncertainty. However—now he remembered what he had _not_ seen in them: guilt. And in that moment, he knew that she couldn't be a spy sent by de Castro or Appius.

She hadn't betrayed him!

His heart leapt.

He didn't know how Sookie had known what she did about de Castro, but he knew that it wasn't because of something illegal on her part. Yes. That he _did_ know—somehow.

However—_why_ it was so important to him that she wasn't working against him was a mystery to him.

"Are you _with_ our Suzy then?" Ben asked softly.

"Sookie," Eric said softly. "She likes for her friends to call her Sookie."

"Oh," Ben said. "We were just working off of her membership paperwork when we came up with her nickname. Are you with—uh—Sookie?" he asked again.

"No," Eric said quietly. "As I told you, she works for me, and—as you said—she's somewhat odd."

"That kiss looked like you were with her," Doris muttered under her breath.

Ben gave Doris a stern look, which she rolled her eyes at. Then he turned back toward Eric. "Do you—uh—need anything else, Sir? Uh—Eric?"

"Why does she bring in the pastries for the two guards at the front?" Eric asked.

"Milos and Jack? Who knows? She just started it one Sunday and never stopped," Ben responded.

"It's a good thing too," Tony deadpanned.

"Why's that?" Eric asked.

"Milos is _always_ running late, so he never eats breakfast. Before Suz—Sookie—started bringing him something to eat, he used to complain nonstop about being hungry until lunch, and since I rotate in for him when he takes his lunch break, I _always_ had to eat after him," Tony complained.

Ben scoffed. "Yeah—Milos was always asking for his lunch break early too. It threw the whole schedule off."

"Is she friends with either of the guards?" Eric asked.

"Nah," Ben reported. "Not really. But she always stops and says hello to them. And they ask her what gallery she's going to be in so that we can—uh—find her faster. By 4:00, a lot of people will come in to put five bucks into the betting pool and select their guess." He gestured toward a clipboard and a jar on a table to the right. "On the weeks no one guesses what she'll pick, we just keep the money in the kitty. The pot can get pretty high if she's in the big galleries for a few weeks in a row, but Doris won it last week."

"Yep," the woman said. "Paid for my daughter's college books too."

Ben smiled, but then looked concerned. "We—uh—just do this for a little fun on Sundays. Most of us work the full day since the museum's open for fewer hours. And we—uh—like Suzy; I mean Sookie. She's interesting. We don't do anything to bother her, and she doesn't even know we're here."

"It's fine," Eric said quietly. "I wouldn't ruin her time here by telling her, and it's," he paused, "nice to know someone's keeping an eye on her."

"We _do_ keep an eye on her," Ben assured quietly. "Sometimes, she gets so lost in herself in the galleries." His tone became more serious. "A couple of times guys have started to take a little _too_ much interest in her—if you know what I mean—but I send a guard in to scare them off." He chuckled. "She doesn't even know when it's happening, but we are sort of her watchdogs in here."

Eric nodded. "You say she stays here all morning?"

"Yeah. Since it's a nice day, she'll leave the museum between 12:00 and 1:00, and she'll come back between 2:00 and 3:00."

Eric nodded. "I'll be back at 1:00." He handed Ben his card. "Call me if she leaves before her usual time."

Ben sighed and took the card. "Listen, Mr. Northman—Eric. As I said, we like Suz—Sookie—even if she's a bit unusual and even if it's sort of entertaining for us to watch her. You aren't—uh—stalking her. Are you?"

Eric saw that several of the others were looking at him too—waiting for his response. It seemed as if Sookie had unknowingly cast a spell over them too. "Stalking her?" He shook his head. "No. Or—uh—I don't know. I _am_ following her today." He looked around at the eyes of everyone in the room looking back at him. "I hope you can trust me when I say that I have a good reason for being here. And I don't mean Sookie any harm." He paused. "I don't want to hurt her," he said, his voice catching with sudden and unexpected emotion.

"Okay then. That's good enough for us," Ben said after a few seconds of studying the young man. He put Eric's card in his pocket.

Eric nodded. "Thanks," he paused and looked at everyone in the room. "Thanks for watching over her."

* * *

Ben escorted Eric to the front of the museum.

"I need for my visit here to stay between you and your people—okay?" Eric asked.

"Sure," Ben said. "But, if you don't mind me saying, Eric, all this is a little odd."

"Odd like Sookie?"

Ben nodded. "Yes. _Just_ like that," he said with a little smile.

"I'll see you at 1:00," Eric said before turning to leave.

* * *

**A/ N: Thanks for all the comments about last week's chapters. I'm sorry it took me so long to respond to them, but I've been swamped by work. I had feared that I wouldn't even get you this chapter this week, but I'm glad this one didn't take too long to edit so that I was able to. **

**Have a wonderful week. I'll try to do better about responding to your kind reviews as you leave them, and-as always-I will offer a little sneak peak at what's next for those who want it. I DO APPRECIATE ALL REVIEWS, RESPONSES, ETC. IT HELPS ME TO FEEL MORE CONNECTED TO YOU ALL.**

**Don't forget: You can find the "cast" for the story at my wordpress site (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com). **

**Best,**

**CKat**


	12. Chapter 12: What We Don't Choose

**Chapter 12: What We Don't Choose**

Eric exited the museum at a quick pace. He didn't want to leave; he wanted to keep looking at _her_—looking out for her—all day, but that was impossible. The last thing he could afford to do was miss the gathering he'd been summoned to.

He glanced at his watch and found that he had 20 minutes before he was to meet with his father and the others about Felipe de Castro. Luckily his father's estate was nearby. He pulled on his gray hat and walked south on Fifth Avenue.

He looked down at his attire, knowing that Appius would not approve. He'd intended to go home to change into a suit before the meeting at his father's house, but he'd been swept up in the mystery of Sookie Stackhouse. Despite the cold temperature—especially when he left his house early that morning—he was wearing only a simple black sweater, a dark gray long-sleeved T-shirt, blue jeans, and black boots. Thankfully, he'd had the foresight to grab his messenger bag, but he knew that he looked more like a graduate student than a business executive. Pam called it his "vagabond" look.

She'd insisted upon putting herself in charge of his suits the year before after she'd seen the sparseness of his closet and—as she had put it—"the shameful lack of color" in his tie collection. After graduating from business school, Eric had been at a bit of a loss about what to wear to a place like NP. He'd never had anyone to teach him about the kinds of suits to buy. Luckily, he'd wandered into a Calvin Klein store, and the attendant had helped to fit him for a few suits.

Despite having gotten a sizeable inheritance from his grandfather John Northman and having a high-paying job, Eric had been unused to owning many clothes. In fact, he was still trying to get used to Pam's insistence that he needed new suits each season, especially when they looked like suits he already owned. He'd had to find subtle ways to curb her desire to overspend since she didn't know that he had limited disposable income now that he was paying a mortgage; however, he still had a lot more work clothes than he'd ever had before. And—of course—he had to admit that Pam's tastes were impeccable. The Ermenegildo Zegna suit that she'd insisted he _needed_ six months before was probably the best-fitting suit he'd ever owned. Of course, she was already hinting that he needed to "move on" because the suit was "last season," but Eric was determined to put his foot down about that particular item.

As Eric continued walking the few blocks to his father's Manhattan home, he texted Bobby Burnham. He asked for a thorough background check to be conducted on Susanna Stackhouse, but he requested that it be done discreetly. He also asked if Bobby could play Sookie's shadow during the upcoming week.

Bobby didn't disappoint. By the next block, he'd texted back and agreed.

Eric sent a follow-up text, warning Bobby that Sookie was a person that seemed to notice a lot about what went on around her. Of course, he'd seen the exception to that rule at the museum earlier that day as he'd watched her on the monitors. In the gallery, she'd become lost in her explorations of the art, oblivious to the other patrons around her. Eric wondered why she allowed herself to be so completely relaxed as she studied the art—especially since he'd seen her so guarded at other times—but then he realized that she must feel safe in the galleries; surrounded by art and strangers, she had nothing to fear.

In truth, he could see the attraction of that kind of thing, and since Ben and his crew were watching over her, Eric was also certain that she was safe there—safe to spend hours on end each Sunday lost to the world. Eric intuited that Sookie needed that. And he was—for a moment—very envious that she had something like that. He didn't know for sure _why_ he was envious, however. Was it because he too wanted an activity that could give him such peace and escape? Or was it because _he_ wanted to be the one to provide Sookie with safety and respite from the world.

It was this last thought that disconcerted Eric the most. What did he want to "be" to Sookie—_for_ Sookie?

With difficulty, Eric pushed the enigmatic blonde from his mind. It didn't matter what he wanted to be to her, after all. What mattered was that his being in her life _would_ hurt her; it was inevitable.

He shut his eyes tightly for a moment and focused on what was coming—a family meeting, at least of sorts. Most of the time—if Eric were involved—such a meeting would take place at Northman Tower and involve mostly business. However, today, Appius had insisted that everyone—including Eric—gather at the mansion, given the fact that there were at least two spies at Northman Publishing, one being the head of security.

Eric was rarely asked to come to the Northman Mansion. The exceptions were for a yearly brunch on Father's Day, which was an "event" that originated when Sophie-Anne married Appius four years before, and for Christmas day, which was the only time when the entire family was expected to gather altogether. Eric was painfully aware that there were many other times when his siblings were invited into their father's home, and Nora still lived there most of the time, though one of the penthouse apartments in Northman Tower had been given to her as well. There was a time when Eric had been allowed to live at Northman Tower—right after Eric had graduated from Harvard Business School and started at NP—but Appius had had a motive for that "generosity," and it hadn't lasted long.

Eric took several deep breaths to calm his nerves as he crossed Fifth Avenue and turned onto East 80th Street. Despite being a shitty father to Eric, Appius Northman was actually brilliant at business, and, according to some, his most noteworthy trait had been his ability to settle his children into his company without causing dissention between them. Since he was the oldest, Eric had been integrated into Northman Publishing first—as the company's Deputy CEO. He'd been in charge of the international division of the company since then. And he would take over as CEO when he turned 35.

Nora had been the next one to step into the business. However, unlike Eric, she'd needed no "probationary" period. She'd been installed as the company's Chief Financial Officer one week after getting her MBA from Columbia University. The former CFO had been given an order to train Nora, and then six months later he'd "retired" with a stellar severance package.

A year later Pam started at NP, becoming the manager of the Editing Department. From the first, Pam was excellent at her job, efficient and somewhat feared. She liked to joke that Machiavelli's _The Prince_ was her bible. Not surprisingly, her department had grown, despite the steady decrease of the need for printed materials as the Internet became more and more prominent.

Yes. By outsiders, Appius was heralded for seeing the business potential of his children. However, Eric knew better. He now knew _why_ Appius had installed him at NP. He sighed. Appius had _never_ intended for Eric to last very long at the company. However, much to Appius's displeasure, Eric was still at NP and had become successful in his own right.

Eric was also very much aware that Nora sometimes needed help to do her job correctly. It wasn't that Nora was unintelligent; it was just that she was in over her head and tended to be a little lazy. On the other hand, Pam was "better" than the job she'd been given. Hell—if Eric were in charge, Pam would be CFO, but Eric was _certainly_ not in charge, and even when he became CEO, he wouldn't have the power to remove Nora from her current position.

Having arrived at Appius's estate, Eric looked up at the home that his father had bought not long after Eric's mother had died. It had once been the old Woolworth Mansion, one of the most luxurious and coveted homes in Manhattan. Of course, Appius had jumped at the chance to buy it when the property came onto the market, and—of course—he'd redubbed it the "Northman Mansion."

However—despite its name—the Northman Mansion had never been Eric's home. He had been sent to boarding school just a few months after his mother died. In fact, the only times that he'd been invited into his father's home before he'd turned 18 were during his boarding schools' winter breaks—when the campuses would shut down completely. Even then, Eric was always the last one to be picked up from his schools and the first one to be brought back each January.

Eric vividly remembered being picked up by a limo for every winter break from the time he was five to the time he was seventeen. The partition between the driver and the passenger seats was always up, and Eric always traveled alone. A bagged sandwich and a bottled water were always left for him in the seat. However, Eric learned after the first five-hour ride that the limo would only stop if gas was needed, so he avoided drinking anything during the trip so that he wouldn't need to go to the bathroom.

However, after he'd turned 18, Eric was no longer welcome to stay the night in the familial estate, and for many years he was just expected on Christmas day.

Eric sighed as he looked at his watch and realized he had eight minutes before he was expected. He took a deep breath, deciding to spend five of them outside.

He was the only one of Appius's children who had never had his own room in the building. But Eric couldn't really complain about that. He wouldn't have wanted to spend more time there. Before he turned 18, Eric faced only discomfort and his father's yearly lectures about his shortcomings during the three weeks out of the year that he was in Appius's home.

No. Eric much preferred his boarding school and his room in his grandparents' home in Sweden.

Pam and Nora, who were less than two months apart in age, had both gone to private school in Manhattan, so they had lived with Appius until Pam had gone to college in California. Alexei had also stayed in the Northman household until he was shipped off to boarding school in Switzerland after getting a twenty-year-old girl pregnant when he was only fourteen. Though Eric could sense Alexei's potential, his younger brother was a "special case" according to the wording most often used by the family. Now 22, Alexei showed no interest or aptitude in anything. Eric hadn't been able to spend much time with Alexei during the last several years, but he intuited that his younger brother just needed Appius to step in and tell him to get his shit together; in other words, he needed his father to care enough to tell him to straighten up, but Eric didn't see that happening anytime soon.

In truth, Alexei had always been spoiled—excessively. However, Eric couldn't really blame anyone for that; after all, Alexei's natural charisma drew others to him and got him almost anything he wanted.

Alexei had inherited his outgoing, appealing personality from his mother. Beth Gainesborough-Northman had been born Lizbeth Appleton, a distant cousin of British royalty. In fact, the Appletons boasted ties to several European kings and queens, and they were incredibly wealthy. And, of course, Appius thought of himself as the fucking king of Manhattan. Thus, Alexei had been treated like a prince from the second of his birth. Eric, however, could muster up no jealousy for his little brother. On the contrary, Eric felt only a sense of protectiveness when he thought of Alexei.

Eric checked his watch and approached the front door. His father's long-time butler, Markus, was waiting to open it as if he'd known Eric had been there. Markus gave Eric an affectionate pat on the back as Eric walked in and took off his cap.

"Hello Markus," Eric said with a sincere smile.

"Mr. Northman," Markus answered. "You don't have a coat?" he asked with a little worry in his voice. "It's quite cold outside—you know."

"You and Margaret always did call me a Viking," Eric chuckled.

"That we did, Mr. Northman," Markus said fondly, remembering how Eric only ever wore a light jacket outdoors—even on the coldest days of his winter vacations.

"Eric," the young man corrected, "please."

Markus looked somewhat sympathetic. "Sorry. You know I can't do that."

Eric sighed and nodded. Appius demanded a certain amount of formality from his servants, even those who had been with the estate for decades, and ever since Eric had turned 18, he had become "Mr. Northman" to them.

"How's Margaret?" he asked of Markus's wife, who was also the cook for the estate.

"Fine. She'll be sorry she missed you."

"She's not here?"

Markus shook his head. "No—she's in Newark with her mother this weekend."

"Is everything okay?" Eric asked, remembering that Margaret had been concerning about her mother's health at Christmas.

"Margaret's mother had another heart attack, I'm afraid," Markus sighed. "But she's doing better now. Margaret's moved her into assisted living, and she seems to like that."

Eric nodded. "Will you tell her I said hello?"

"Sure," Markus said with a smile before leading Eric to one of the several living rooms in the mansion—the one that Sophie-Anne called the "informal living room."

Eric wasn't surprised to see Lochlan and Neave Faeman in the room. They were partners in the firm that represented Appius personally; in fact, Eric didn't know if they did anything else other than his bidding. The term "sharks" came to mind when Eric thought of them. Oh—they were good at their jobs, but he was pretty sure they had sharp teeth and could tear apart any miserable souls that they chose as their victims. Afraid of losing various body parts, Eric was just glad that they weren't part of the team of corporate lawyers in the legal department at Northman Publishing. They poked their noses into NP business on occasion, but Eric had been forced to work with them directly only a few times.

Eric also wasn't surprised to see Stan Davis in the room. Stan had, after all, been Appius's personal attorney before he'd been elected to the Senate. Davis, Faeman, and Associates had been one of the most prominent law firms in New York for over 75 years; it had been opened by Stan Davis's grandfather and the Faemans' great-grandfather. Stan's own father had been a U.S. Senator, and when Stan had decided to follow in his footsteps and run for his vacant Senate seat after Stanley Sr. had died, Appius had backed him with his wealth and influence.

It hadn't surprised anyone in New York society when Tamara Davis, Stan's sister, had become Appius's third wife. Sadly, the marriage hadn't lasted long.

Tamara had married Appius when Eric was seventeen. Since the wedding coincided with one of Eric's winter breaks, Tamara had insisted that he be included in the ceremony, though Appius made sure to tell Eric—in private, of course—that he hated the idea of his being there. Eric had been an usher, but had been escorted out of the sanctuary by Dermot Faeman, Lochlan and Neave's now-retired father, during the wedding ceremony itself.

Tamara and Appius had had only one child, Grace Lauren Northman, named for Appius's mother. When Appius and Tamara decided to divorce after only four years of marriage, the "transaction" had been amicable, and Appius had pretty much "won" Stan in the settlement. Gracie—as their now twelve-year-old daughter was called—lived with her mother in Boston and seemed quite down-to-earth and well-adjusted, compared to Appius's other children. Tamara—it seemed—hadn't been too keen on Appius's notions of parenting their child by sending her off to boarding schools, which was what had precipitated their divorce. Appius had agreed to Tamara's terms in the divorce: she wouldn't take any of his money if he let her educate and raise Gracie as she wanted. Appius had stipulated that Gracie would receive a trust fund from him _only_ if she eventually joined Northman Publishing, and their deal was struck.

During her four years of marriage with Appius, which corresponded roughly to Eric's time as an undergraduate in college, Tamara had always been nice to him—even though he saw her only three times following his eighteenth birthday. However, since the divorce, she had been even kinder to him, inviting him to Boston several times a year so that he could spend the day with Gracie. It hadn't take Tamara long to recognize that Eric was not exactly welcome in Appius's home. And it also hadn't taken her long to understand that Gracie adored Eric; even when she was an infant and only saw him once a year at Christmas, she would light up around him. Eric smiled to himself. Gracie had treated him like a giant jungle gym for the first ten years of her life. Now that she was in her "pre-teen" years, she always wanted to talk to him about some boy or another—to get the "male perspective," she would say.

Of course, Appius had tried to stop the visits when he learned of them, but Tamara had held firm, a fact which Eric had been extremely grateful for as he'd gotten to better know his little sister. In fact, the last time he'd been to Boston was for Halloween, and he'd gotten to walk with Gracie through her neighborhood as she went trick-or-treating in a fireman costume. He was also planning a February visit for the weekend before her birthday, and—of course—there was her dance recital in June. Yes—it was safe to say that Eric was extremely grateful to Tamara that he got to spend time with Gracie—beyond the two times a year when he would see her at their father's home.

Eric looked around the room as if he were analyzing a battlefield. Nora was sitting with their grandmother, Grace Northman, on the shorter sofa in the room. Andre, Sophie-Anne, and Appius were sitting on the long sofa. Andre and Sophie-Anne were flanking Appius, both of them looking "spouse-like." The Faemans were standing behind Appius, and Stan was standing behind Grace. Pam was sitting in one of the chairs that formed a three-sided square with the couches.

"You're late," Appius said disapprovingly in Eric's direction. "And this is a _business_ meeting, not a rock and roll concert," he added, glaring at Eric's outfit.

As a matter of fact, Eric was exactly on time, but he didn't say anything to contradict Appius. Instead, he reached into his knapsack and took out several files. "I have gathered some information on Quinn and Sandy," he informed, handing the files to Appius. Bobby had sent Eric some of the information in the early hours of the morning, and Eric had spent much of the rest of his sleepless night gathering more.

Eric sat down in the chair next to Pam, who was his only ally in the room.

"And?" Appius asked, sifting through the files.

"Quinn is from Las Vegas. From what I've been able to find out, he owes de Castro for some gambling debts amassed by his mother," Eric reported.

"Why didn't _you_ notice this when we hired him?" Appius snapped at Eric accusingly.

Used to his father berating him, Eric answered evenly. "I am not in charge of the Human Resources division."

Appius glared at him. "As Deputy CEO, you need to know _everything_ that goes on at NP!"

Eric ignored the fact that Appius's logic was faulty—since the CEO should also "know everything." He also didn't remind Appius that he had preferred the other candidate who had interviewed for the position of chief of security at NP; in fact, right after the interviews, Eric had told Appius that he thought there was something untrustworthy about John Quinn. Of course, that practically ensured that Appius would hire Quinn—just to go against Eric's preference. Instead, Eric responded calmly. "Our usual background checks don't include bribes and searches into the Nevada organized crime syndicate. This report did."

"And Sandy?" Appius seethed.

Eric sighed. "If I had to guess, I'd say that she's been feeding information to de Castro since she left him and started working for you."

Appius glared at Eric. "I doubt that very much. The current situation is all _your_ fault."

"Of course," Eric said impassively. "But it seems that Felipe is just as vindictive and obsessive as his daughter."

"If you had just married her, none of this would be happening!" Grace Northman spoke up harshly.

"Indeed," Appius agreed with his mother. "We had things arranged satisfactorily, but you had to fuck it up—as _always_."

Eric took a breath. "Be that as it may, we still have to figure out what to do about de Castro now."

Appius glared at his son. "Well—since _you_ have all the answers today, what do you propose?"

Though he knew that whatever he said would be rejected, Eric outlined his plan. He suggested that Sandy and Quinn be watched for a while so that solid evidence of their spying could be accumulated. Eric posited that if enough evidence could be gathered to have them arrested, then they would likely testify against Felipe to save their own skin.

Eric's strategy would be more subtle and drawn-out than the "shock and awe" plan that he was certain his father would advocate, but his proposal would likely end with de Castro and Madden behind bars or, at the very least, unable to target Northman Publishing again. It would be a clean and legal solution—though it would likely take a few months to implement.

Of course, Appius vetoed it immediately with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"What of the NP stock?" Appius asked Nora.

"I've confirmed that NP stock is being bought up by a single individual—almost fifteen percent so far. The family still controls fifty-three percent," she added.

Appius growled. "We should have _never_ gone public," he said, looking in Eric's direction. "I believe that was your hair-brained idea."

Eric sighed. "Even with fifteen percent of the company, De Castro can be little more than an annoyance. Even if he sells it all off quickly and the stock prices dive, we can recover just as quickly."

"Bad publicity is _not_ something to be shrugged off!" Appius yelled. "You would do well to learn that!"

Eric steadied himself with a deep breath. "I have already contacted the PR department with some preliminary plans about how to spin the situation in our favor. Plus, if it is eventually leaked to the Press that de Castro is behind the sale and the spies, I don't think we'll be hurt at all. In fact, I think that we would garner public sympathy and support from such an incident."

Appius glared at Eric. "I don't like not owning every damned share of _my_ company."

Eric spoke evenly. "I am well aware of that, but the family still controls the majority of the stock. And as long as we maintain above fifty percent, you will continue to control the board. I was very careful in how I set things up when we went public, Father. As long as there was nothing illegal for Sandy or Quinn to find, we were never in any real danger from de Castro's machinations. They are an irritation at best. And now we can use his spies to either feed false information to de Castro or to bring him down," Eric added reasonably.

"I don't like de Castro's hands in my fucking pot!" Appius yelled out angrily. "Your so-called plan would take months, and I want him and his spies out of my hair _now_! What are our other options?"

"Pressure," Stan said from where he was standing behind Grace and Nora. "I can call de Castro today and explain to him that his actions with Quinn and Sandy have been unacceptable. And then I can prod him to sell his stock. I have a feeling that he will cower when he knows we are on to him. And his company still has several lucrative contracts with the government. I will simply remind him that I'm on the subcommittee that decides who publishes the thousands of government documents each year."

Eric didn't bother bringing up the point that the kind of "pressure" that Stan was talking about was illegal. It didn't matter anyway. His father was never shy about flirting with the legal/illegal line.

Eric ran his hand through is hair. As angry as he'd initially been the night before, he'd quickly cooled down and realized that there was no real threat from de Castro—unless NP was participating in illegal activities he wasn't aware of.

The Northmans still controlled enough stock in NP to prevent any corporate raiding schemes that de Castro may have had in mind. Appius owned 30% of the company outright, which was the maximum that any one individual could own. Eric owned 7%. Nora owned 10%. Since each of them had more than 5% of the company, they had to officially disclose that information at the end of each year; however, those with less than 5% did not. Thus, it was not commonly known that the family still held over 50% of the company's stock. Pam held 3% as did Alexei—through a trust controlled by Appius. That brought the family up to 53%, and—unbeknownst to Appius, Eric also controlled an additional 7% of the stock. With part of his inheritance from his grandfather John, Eric had been able to buy 2.1% of the publicly-traded stock, which he'd put in his maternal grandmother's name so that his father wouldn't know about it. The other 4.9% belonged to Bobby Burnham, who had bought the most stock he could without having it publicly reported.

Bobby had done that for three reasons. First, it had been as a favor to Eric; in fact, Bobby planned to sell the stock to Eric when the time was right. Second, Bobby hated Appius and knew that his having the stock would piss him off. Third, Bobby was no idiot; he recognized that the stock would make him a lot of money. And it already had.

Indeed, Eric had been extremely careful about keeping the amount of stock controlled by the family above 50%, though the Northmans didn't advertise that fact. Thus, it had been Felipe's ignorance and arrogance that had led him to believe that he could cause any real damage by buying up the stock.

"So if we pressure him, he'll sell?" Appius asked Stan.

"Yes. I think so," Stan replied.

"Good. I don't want him to hold any stock in Northman Publishing when this is done. Use this information to link him to Quinn," Appius said, gesturing to the file of information Eric had gathered. "Then blackmail the fuck out of him! I want Quinn and Sandy gone tomorrow! No one fucks with my company!" Appius stormed.

Stan nodded. "I'll do it today. In fact, I'll speak with Felipe personally."

Appius rose, glared at Eric, and then left the room without another word. Sophie-Anne and Andre trailed after him like puppies. And Neave and Lochlan slinked out behind them.

Grace glared at Eric. "You _could_ have prevented all of this if you had simply married Freyda. Instead of dealing with this mess, we could have been planning a wedding and a merger." She shook her head. "After all that Appius has done for you, I cannot believe that you wouldn't act for the benefit of this family." She sighed dramatically. "All of this drama has made me _extremely_ upset," she said, still looking right at Eric with a hate-filled stare.

"Why don't I escort you home then?" Stan offered congenially.

"That would be lovely," Grace said, rising to her feet. She quickly kissed her two granddaughters on the cheek. Eric, of course, was offered nothing in parting except for another scowl.

"That went well," Nora deadpanned when only the three siblings were left in the room.

"Yes," Eric said simply, giving nothing away.

Pam scoffed, "Eric's plan could have put de Castro in prison—thereby eliminating the competition. Why wouldn't Father just wait?" she asked, truly mystified.

"Waiting was _Eric's_ idea," Nora chuckled, her very slight British accent poking through. "And _that_ is never acceptable." She winked at Eric and then practically skipped out of the room.

"She can be such a bitch," Pam said under her breath.

Eric gave a little shrug but said nothing.

"Heading home?" Pam asked. "Father lent me the car. I had some shopping to do before the meeting this morning."

Eric shook his head. "No—I need to run by NP," he lied.

"I could drop you," she offered.

"That's okay. I'll use the subway."

Pam rolled her eyes. Her own aversion to the subway was very well known. "Why must you travel like a commoner?" she asked rather snobbishly, looking at his clothing with disdain as well.

Eric ignored her comment. "Dinner tonight?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I'm having Dawn," Pam informed him with a smirk, "and since I'm not kinky like Nora, I _won't_ be asking you to join us."

Eric cringed. "Thanks for that," he responded.

Pam sighed. "Father _should_ have done what you suggested, Eric. It was the best way—the legal way. I'm sorry I didn't speak up to say that, but he just seemed so dead-set against your plan from the start."

Eric shrugged. "If I'd really wanted my way, I would have asked Nora to suggest the plan," he sighed. In a moment of uncharacteristic unguardedness, he continued in a lowered voice, "If Father had his way, I wouldn't even be employed at NP."

"Sure you would," Pam returned somewhat optimistically.

"The head of the custodial department?" Eric joked.

"The head?" Pam smirked.

"You're right," Eric smiled at his sister as he extended his arm for her to take. "I would have had to work my way up the ranks."

"That's more like it, Mop Boy," she kidded as the two walked to the front entryway and Markus helped her put on her heavy coat. She looked up at her older brother, who seemed to carry more and more weight on his shoulders as the years went by. She wondered if anyone else saw the tiny bit of gray hedging its way into his blond locks.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Of course," Eric lied. "Always."

"You know—if you just tried a little harder with him, you two might get along better," she said hopefully.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eric saw Markus sigh as he left the room. Eric knew that the competent Butler was probably already calling for Pam's car.

"I don't know how to try harder than I already do," Eric responded honestly.

Pam smiled a little. "I just wish you two would get along."

"Me too."

"Well—he won't be CEO forever," she said lightly.

Eric raised a brow. "No. But he will likely live forever," he joked, trying to add levity to their serious conversation.

"A god?" Pam asked with a grin.

"More like a vampire," Eric chuckled, "draining me of my blood."

"And everything else," Pam continued quietly, though her expression suddenly held no mirth.

"Yes," Eric responded, also serious again. "_Everything_ else."

"I'm sorry, Eric," she said. "I wish things could be a little easier for you."

He shrugged. "You know that Father and I have never seen eye to eye," he said, trying once more to brush off the serious conversation.

"He loves you though," Pam said, sounding more unconvinced than she usually did when she said it.

"Of course," Eric said evenly. He gave his usual, rehearsed response. "If he didn't, he wouldn't push me so hard."

He smiled and kissed her forehead before leading her out of the house.

"Only six months until our visit with Mormor," Pam offered, not quite buying Eric's act.

"Yes. And I'm going to try for two weeks this year," Eric smiled.

"Good luck," Pam deadpanned. "Still—maybe if we staggered things? We could have our week together; I could go a week earlier than you, and you could stay a week later. Nora might be a bitch, but she would cover for us."

Eric nodded. "Let's try, lillasyster." ["little sister"]

"Yes. Let's, storebror." ["big brother"]

Eric waved as he turned to walk away from Appius's house. It was a cold day, but it was sunny, and he had just enough time to get to the MET before 1:00.

* * *

[A/N: Thanks so much for reading. And I appreciate all the responses to last week's chapter. Just FYI: When I envisioned Appius's home, I thought of the Woolworth Mansion, one of the most expensive homes in Manhattan. And it is only a few blocks from the MET, so it worked perfectly to imagine Eric walking there. I have put pictures of the Woolworth Mansion and the newly introduced members of the cast on my WordPress site: (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com).

Also, I have good and bad news. First the good—the first draft of _Comfortably Numb_ is almost done (and "weighs in" at around 350,000 words). There's just a bit more to write as I resolve various plotlines. That means that I'll be able to start focusing more on editing and less on producing the draft. And that will lead to more than one chapter a week!

Bad news: I probably won't be able to work on the end of the draft at all this week b/c I have tons of essays to grade, but the spring semester is over after Friday, so I'll be sure to get a chapter to you next weekend. After that, you can expect them to come faster (but not one a day like I did with _Come Back to Me_. That was too hard—maybe 3 a week or so.)

Again, thanks for reading and commenting on this story. It is nice to know that there are people out there who like this piece.

Have a wonderful week!]


	13. Chapter 13: Magic Wand

**Chapter 13: Magic Wand**

_ "Only six months until our visit with Mormor," Pam offered, not quite buying Eric's act._

_ "Yes. And I'm going to try for two weeks this year," Eric smiled. _

_ "Good luck," Pam deadpanned. "Still—maybe if we staggered things? We could have our week together; I could go a week earlier than you, and you could stay a week later. Nora might be a bitch, but she would cover for us."_

_ Eric nodded. "Let's try, lillasyster." ["little sister"]_

_ "Yes. Let's, storebror." ["big brother"]_

_ Eric waved as he turned to walk away from Appius's house. It was a cold day, but it was sunny, and he had just enough time to get to the MET before 1:00. _

At five minutes to 1:00, just as Eric crossed the street onto Fifth Avenue, his phone rang.

"Northman," he said in greeting, since the number on the caller ID was unfamiliar to him.

"Uh—Mr. Northman—uh, it's Ben—Ben Anderson—from the MET?"

"Yes," Eric said, glancing at his watch. He was only a couple of blocks away from the museum at this point.

"It's just that Suzy's—I mean Sookie's—doing something different today than she usually does," Ben said. "She's broken her routine for the first time in almost a year," he added, the surprise clear in the chief of security's voice.

"What is she doing?" Eric asked, quickening his pace.

"She left Gallery 111 at 12:30, similar to her usual time, but she hasn't left the museum yet. She's not in the park for her lunch."

"And it's not raining!" Eric heard Doris's voice from the background.

"Where is she then?" Eric asked.

"Gallery 823," Ben reported.

"Our gallery?" Eric asked, almost to himself. He wasn't sure when he had begun thinking of it as theirs, but he had.

"Uh—yeah—the one you were in last night. Yeah. _Yours_—I guess."

"I'll be there in five minutes. Can you have an escort waiting to bring me to you?" Eric asked.

"I'll wait for you myself," Ben said.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Eric was standing transfixed as he looked at the monitor. With his peripheral vision, he noticed that Tony, Doris, Milos, and Ben were also captivated by the image of Sookie's profile as she looked at Van Gogh's _Wheat Field with Cypresses_. According to Ben, she had been studying that painting ever since she had entered the gallery—almost forty minutes before. Standing right in front of the piece, she really wasn't moving much, just a slight tilt of her head every now and then. Others coming and going from the gallery seemed annoyed that Sookie wouldn't take their hints and just move so that they could get a better look at the famous painting; however, a guard was standing in the corner of the room, and it was pretty clear that his current job was to keep others from bothering Sookie.

"Why isn't there a bench in that room—like there is in most of the other Northman Galleries?" Eric asked out loud.

"I've no idea," Ben answered.

"Isn't Tony supposed to be out front while Milos is as lunch?" Eric asked offhandedly as he remembered what he'd learned that morning about the crew's usual schedule.

"Like I said earlier, Tony's best with the computers," Ben said, smiling at Eric's attention to detail. He would have made a good guard. "I sent Mark down to the desk," he added.

"What did she bring you this morning?" Eric asked in Milos's direction, though he kept his eyes fixed on Sookie.

"Huh? Oh—my favorite—the chocolate chip scone."

"How does she know it's your favorite?"

Milos shrugged. "Who knows with _that_ one?" he said gesturing to the screen. "Suzy's not exactly like everyone else."

"Sookie," Eric said evenly.

"Yeah—Sookie," Milos corrected himself. "Anyways, she always gets me the scone and brings a donut with sprinkles on it for Jack; that's his favorite too. But we never told her that; she just started bringing them one day." Milos smirked. "'Course I always have to josh Jack about it 'cause he's always so damned excited about those sprinkles. I've told him that a grown man shouldn't admit to wanting sprinkles."

Everyone chuckled at that—even Eric. For some reason, he liked these people, though he'd only just met them. They seemed "real" to him—like a family, almost.

Eric looked back at the screen. "I guess she's a mind-reader then," he said softly, wondering how Sookie could have known what treats were the men's favorites.

Nobody remarked on Eric's comment as they watched Sookie turn and then walk out of the gallery. Tony tapped the computer keys which would allow them to follow her progress.

She stopped in the hallway and waited at least a minute before pushing the button for the same elevator that she and Eric had gotten into the night before.

Tony shifted the camera to the view inside the small conveyance, and Eric once more regretted his rough treatment of her the night before. He was glad that he'd not asked his new-found comrades to look up _that_ video feed. Given how protective they were of her, it was likely they would have kicked his ass. Hell—he figured he deserved it.

After exiting the elevator, Sookie quickly walked to the entrance of the museum, waving at Jack and Mark when she got to the front lobby.

"Call me when she gets back," Eric said as soon as she had exited the building. He left the room that held the hub of the MET's security and headed for Gallery 111.

* * *

Eric took two hours to peruse the Egyptian art in Gallery 111; however, he didn't read everything about each piece. He enjoyed art and history quite a bit, but he didn't have the time to read everything. He had one objective and one objective only.

When his phone vibrated, he answered it quickly.

"Mr. Northman," Ben said. "She just got back and she's headed your way."

"Put me down for the _Magic Wand_," Eric said into the receiver. "It's five dollars—right?"

"Uh—yes. Wait—you want to enter the betting pool?"

"Yes—the _Magic Wand_."

"The ivory from the hippo?" Ben asked.

"Yeah," Eric confirmed. "And don't worry. I'm good for the five dollars."

Ben chuckled and hung up as Eric moved into the next gallery over so that he could observe Sookie unseen. A few moments later, he heard her entering, her tennis shoes almost silent on the polished floor. He watched in fascination as she walked around the gallery again, occasionally jotting down a quick note. People roved in and out of the gallery, though few stayed for long since the larger artifacts from ancient Egypt were in other rooms. Sookie paid them no mind, keeping her eyes only on the exhibits in that gallery.

As always seemed to be the case, Eric was transfixed by her and kept watch.

Finally, a little more than an hour later, she pulled her camera from her bag and took a purposeful step toward the piece Eric had guessed—the _Magic Wand_.

* * *

Objects, such as the one Eric had been drawn to, were common enough during the late Middle Kingdom in Egypt. The particular one Eric had chosen showed signs of wear on the tip; according to the information written next to the artifact, its wear suggested that it had been used for a while before being placed in the tomb it was eventually found in. The piece was decorated on one side with figures of protective deities, most of whom carried knives to ward off evil spirits. The piece was labeled _Magic Wand_.

Magic.

The wand had been made with ivory from a hippopotamus and was inscribed with several beautifully carved symbols. When Eric had read what the Egyptian symbols meant, they'd struck a chord inside of him. They read "protection by day" and "protection by night."

According to its description, the _Magic Wand_ had likely been used to draw circles of protection around people, most often while they slept; such wands were meant as a defense for people when they couldn't defend themselves. The wands could protect the living, but they were also placed in tombs to shield the dead.

The _Magic Wand_ was the piece that Eric would have chosen to take a picture of—if he were the one choosing. He longed to be shielded from the harsh light of his days and the lonely dark of his nights. He longed to sleep in peace—to be safe from the nightmares that had plagued him for most of his life.

Sookie snapped her picture of the piece he'd picked, even as he walked back into Gallery 111—where she stood looking lovingly at the _Magic Wand_.

"Are you allowed to take pictures in here?" he asked from behind her.

Her body immediately stiffened, and she turned around slowly.

Several moments of silence passed between them as their eyes locked and learned of each other.

"Of course, you didn't use flash photography, so it is likely allowed," Eric commented. "Am I right?"

"Are you following me?" she stammered.

"I entered this wing of the museum over three hours ago," he replied. "You tell me."

She closed her eyes. "Am I going to be arrested?"

"Did you do anything to be arrested for?" he asked with amusement in his voice.

She shook her head as she opened her eyes.

"Well then," he said by way of an answer. He was well aware that he'd not directly responded to her concern, but Sookie seemed to take it as such and relaxed immediately.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

He smiled a little. "Why are you here?"

"I like it here," she answered.

"Me too."

She bit her lip as if she wanted to say something, but then looked away.

"What else will you take a picture of—other than this," he paused, making a show of leaning in and reading the caption, "_Magic Wand_?"

"Nothing," she answered, clearly inhaling his scent as he leaned closer to her.

"Is there _nothing_ else you like in this room?" he asked suggestively, enjoying the blush his comment elicited.

"No. I mean," she stammered, "I like everything."

"Then why no other pictures, Susanna?" he asked.

Immediately, her expression fell. "Sookie?" she said as if asking a question.

"Yes—Sookie," he corrected.

Her expression immediately lightened. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked.

"Mr. Northman, I," she started.

"Eric," he corrected in a whisper. "The people I care about call me Eric."

That comment stopped her words again.

"Why only one picture, Sookie?" he asked taking a small step toward her.

"My phone," she said.

"What about it?"

"It's my only camera," she said, staring into his eyes. Only when he moistened his lips did she move her focus to them.

"And?"

"And I want to take a picture of _everything_," she said.

"But?"

"My phone won't hold everything in the MET," she answered.

"But it will hold the best thing—your favorite thing?"

She nodded.

"Do you come here a lot, Sookie?" he asked, taking another small step forward.

She nodded again. "Every week."

"Did you visit _our_ gallery today?" he asked.

She blushed.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes," she whispered, looking back up into his eyes.

He bent down a little, but this time—instead of capturing her lips—he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Next week, there will be a bench there for you to sit on," he whispered even as he let himself be momentarily entrapped by the scent of her hair. An errant piece had fallen from her ponytail, and he carefully tucked the golden strand behind her ear, the backs of his fingers gently grazing her jawline after he did.

With great difficulty, he pulled himself from her presence and walked out of the gallery. He hurried toward the front entrance, looking behind him a few times to make sure she wasn't following.

"You could offer her nothing but misery," he reminded himself when he was tempted to run back to Sookie.

When he reached the front of the museum, he nodded to Milos and Jack—whose nametag read John—and then proceeded down the hall to the surveillance room. When he got there, Doris, Ben, and Tony were looking right at him.

"What?" Eric asked as he moved toward the computer station that he knew would still be showing Sookie. He wasn't wrong. She seemed frozen in her tracks, but a small smile was playing on her lips.

Eric watched until Sookie closed her eyes and seemed to come out of her stupor. After that, she walked toward the gallery door.

"Well—I guess you earned this," Ben smirked, gesturing toward a jar of money.

Eric kept his eyes on Sookie as Tony continued to switch cameras. He pulled his wallet out and took out a ten dollar bill. "I'll be back next week. Double or nothing," he said before he left the surveillance room so that he could follow Sookie out of the museum.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry that this chapter is shorter than the chapters usually are, but this was a natural stopping point. It will be a couple of days before the next chapter gets posted, though I'll be able to start posting more than once a week now b/c I won't be teaching as many classes in the summer. However, the next chapter was a late add and needs quite a bit of tweaking. Also, for the next few weeks, I still have to devote some time to finishing the draft, so expect another chapter on Tuesday or Wednesday. **

**Meanwhile, I'm working on the final draft of a one-shot that explores Eric's thoughts three years after the end of the final book, **_**Dead Ever After**_**. It's a "short" one-shot for me (less than 10,000 words in its current form). I wrote it yesterday—after reading/skimming the final book, which I borrowed from a friend (I'm still debating about whether to buy it. Sigh). Anyway, that offering—called "Enduring"—will be up today or tomorrow, depending on how fast the editing goes. I hope you will check it out.**

**As always, thanks so much for reading! And a special thanks to those who reviewed or commented upon the last chapter! I will have more time to respond to you all this week, which makes me happy. Remember, the "art" in this piece is available for you to see on my WordPress site (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com).  
**

**Remember to let me know if you DON'T want the "official preview" if you review/comment. I only "spoil" those that want to be "spoiled." But I do like to spoil you all since you're so great. ;) **

**Again, thanks.**

**C Kat**


	14. Chapter 14: Benchmark, Part 1

**Chapter 14: Benchmark, Part 1**

_**February 5, 2012 (three weeks after the previous chapter)**_

Eric walked into Gallery 823 and looked at the position of the bench that had been added a little more than two weeks before. He took a seat on it and smiled, knowing that Sookie would be sitting just where he was in a few hours. The bench had been installed right where he wanted it—right in front of _Wheat Field with Cypresses_.

Eric closed his eyes and once more replayed the scene where he and Sookie stood in front of Van Gogh's painting and kissed. The softness of her hair. The hesitation and then possessiveness of her lips. The questing of her tongue. Her hands pulling him closer. Closer. Closer.

Eric took a ragged breath and opened his eyes. In order to avoid becoming aroused in a public space in which kids might be milling around, he had to shut down his memory before letting himself get too lost in it. He looked around the room. The Northman Galleries were popular—most likely because they included pieces by artists with which many people were familiar. One did not need to be an art aficionado to have heard of Vincent Van Gogh or Claude Monet or Pablo Picasso. Plus, the Northman Galleries were next to a gallery that housed additional pieces by Picasso, and according to Ben, that room was among the most traveled in the museum.

However, despite its popularity and despite the fact that there were—even then—nine other people in the room with Eric, Gallery 823 felt like it belonged to Sookie and him. The floor where they had stood was _their_ floor. The painting that they had stood in front of was _their_ painting. The air in the room was _theirs_ to breathe—only theirs.

He inhaled deeply and let that air fill his lungs. He'd always loved the smell of the MET. The museum was kept immaculately clean; however, the odor of cleansing products did not make up the dominant smell. On the contrary, the air filtering units in the museum, designed to limit the amount of dust and other substances that could potentially damage the priceless art, seemed to make the air crisper somehow—somehow more alive. Or maybe it was the art itself that enlivened everything else in the room. Eric didn't know. All that he knew was that he liked the scent—and that it, too, was meant for Sookie and him.

He ran his hand over the smooth surface of the bench. When he'd spoken to one of the assistant directors of the MET the Monday after he'd met Sookie, he had been both vague and specific about his donation and what he wanted it to do. The specific part was easy; he needed for there to be a bench in Gallery 823, but that was too narrow of a request and might have made the assistant director suspicious about "why" he had asked for something so particular. And—though he trusted Ben and his crew because of their special connection to Sookie—others might ask questions that could get back to Appius. And Eric couldn't risk that; he couldn't risk Sookie.

Thus, Eric had been vague about the "why." He'd simply stated that he thought it was odd that three of the ten Northman Galleries didn't have benches so that patrons could enjoy the art better. Once he'd made this comment, the assistant director did the rest of the work, so to speak. As it had turned out, a cutback of funds had prevented the installation of quite a few things—including new benches—that had been earmarked for a number of galleries—including Gallery 823. A twenty thousand dollar donation later, and the funds were available for all the installations. Eric's only request was that the benches for the Northman Galleries be installed first, and by that Thursday, they had been.

Eric did some mental math, deducting the twenty thousand from the money market account he'd set up so that he could eventually buy Bobby's NP stock. Luckily, Bobby was not in a hurry to sell, and Eric didn't want his father to know about his "extra" stock either. So there was time.

Though the whole world would have imagined that he was filthy rich, twenty thousand dollars out of his savings was not something Eric sneezed at, but he was good at saving money. And he still had plenty to live on.

His position as Deputy CEO earned him a large salary. Because of a contract he'd signed with his father, his salary was based on the average figure earned by Deputy CEOs in the publishing business—the industry standard, so to speak. That put him at $2.5 million a year—before taxes. Of course, NP was anything but "average"; as CEO, Appius earned 30 million a year, and he had a lot of lucrative real estate ventures and oil investments as well.

However, Eric didn't mind the inequity, even though he was independently running the international division of NP, which accounted for about one-third of the company's quarterly profits. Eric had not grown up in an entitled way; thus, he was extremely grateful for the money he earned and understood how much the $1.3 million he made after taxes was compared to what most people had. Plus, it was a lot more than he'd initially been paid at NP.

In fact, until he was 21, Eric had had very little experience with _real_ money, though he had studied economics quite extensively.

Throughout his years at exclusive boarding schools, Eric had—of course—seen that the other kids had spending money. His first school, Murray Academy, was the hardest-to-get-into boarding school for elementary-aged children in the United States. All the kids there were from extremely wealthy families. And those kids tended to have large allowances. Eric had not.

When he and his classmates got older and could leave campus to go to movies or arcades or restaurants or stores, Eric would always claim that he had to study. In actuality, he would have liked to have gone with them, but he had no money to pay for even a single movie ticket or fast food hamburger.

Eric had found his recreation in other ways. He had borrowed a lot of books from the library, devouring them while the people around him played expensive video games on their expensive personal computers. When his classmates had gone out, he had gone to the stables and helped to brush out the horses that the school owned for polo and other sports. Students weren't allowed to ride them for recreation, but Headmaster Burnham—Godric—had made an arrangement for him to help the stable hands.

And then Godric had talked to the headmaster at his second boarding school—Exeter Academy. Since Murray Academy only went through the eighth grade, Eric started ninth grade at Exeter. Luckily, the headmistress there, a woman named Dorothy Ripley, was open to letting Eric help in the stables too. In fact, after Eric turned 16, she even arranged that he earn a little money for his work, since she could employ students to do part-time tasks without parental permission once they were 16.

However, by then, other students had stopped asking Eric if he wanted to go out with them. So—he'd tucked the little bit of money he earned into his sock drawer.

After boarding school came college; he had scholarships for that, and those took care of both his room and board and his tuition. He drew up a careful budget for a few personal necessities that were not provided: soap, shampoo, deodorant, laundry detergent, and quarters for the laundry machine. No longer able to rely on his school uniforms for his day-to-day wardrobe, he found a secondhand clothing store where he purchased enough clothing to get him through a week at a time.

Things didn't become difficult for Eric until the first holiday came around: Thanksgiving. He'd been used to staying at boarding school during that short holiday. But even though the dorms at Harvard stayed open so that he had a place to stay, the cafeteria shut down for a few days. Luckily, Eric had enough money saved to buy food. However, he began to worry about where he would stay during the winter break since his father had already informed him that he would no longer be welcome to lodge in the family home during his school breaks now that he was in college. The dorms were closed for three weeks, and Eric had only limited funds. He had no idea how long he would have to make them last. For all he knew, he would have to stretch his meager savings until he was 21. He tried to get a job, but freshmen in his scholarship program were not allowed to have jobs—not even of the part-time variety—and the Dean had seen no reason to make an exception for him.

Eric had contemplated calling his mormor, but he didn't want to be a burden; plus, he didn't know how to explain to her just why he needed a plane ticket and a place to stay. Moreover, he had been informed by letter that he was required to go to Appius's home in Manhattan for Christmas day, though he was not invited to spend the night. He was to arrive promptly at 9:00 a.m. for a meeting with Appius. For the meeting, he was to bring a file, which included his grades for the semester and a typed report "accounting for his time at Harvard." At 11:00 a.m., he would be expected in the family room as presents were opened. He would be allowed to stay through Christmas dinner, but Appius warned that he was to "behave himself" and speak only when spoken to so that he wouldn't "shame himself or the family." He was to make his excuses and leave at 2:00 p.m. sharp. Eric figured the invitation to stay beyond his "meeting" with Appius had come from Tamara or was for the benefit of "appearances." Either way, however, it wasn't feasible for him to go to Sweden for the holiday since Christmas split the vacation time in two.

After several weeks of planning, Eric had found a cheap hotel near Jackson Square. He took exactly one-third of the money he had saved. With it, he paid for three weeks at the hotel and some cheap food he could store in the room. The only cash he had remaining after that was $35, more than enough for his bus ticket. However, on his way to buy his ticket, Eric had been mugged in the rough neighborhood that he was staying in, and his money had been stolen. He had no way to get back into the dorms to secure more money. So—in the end—it had been his $29 bus ticket that Eric hadn't been able to afford. He had finally had to swallow his pride and call Godric—collect.

Calling from a Western Union, Eric had asked Godric for thirty dollars, promising that he would pay the money back with interest as soon as he could.

Godric hadn't sent the money. Instead, his former headmaster had demanded to know where Eric was staying and had driven to Boston that very night.

Not being able to afford to do laundry, Eric had worn the same clothes for several days, saving his clean items for Christmas. Thus, Godric had found him rather dirty and smelly. Eric had also been beaten up during the mugging. He'd suffered some cracked and bruised ribs when the mugger kicked him several times before running away with the $35 dollars in Eric's pocket.

Godric had said nothing. He'd simply added the unopened cans of Vienna sausages Eric had on the dresser to Eric's still-packed suitcase and led him out of the hotel where the population consisted of mostly drug users, pushers, prostitutes, and rodents.

The headmaster didn't ask why Eric let out a painful groan when he got into the car, nor did he ask how Eric had ended up in the place he'd been. Godric already knew. He knew that Eric hadn't fallen in with the wrong crowd; he knew that Eric hadn't gotten involved with drugs. Godric knew that Eric wasn't at the roach-infested motel to pick up prostitutes.

Godric had driven Eric to a hospital so that his ribs could be looked at. Two had hairline fractures, but mostly there was just bad bruising. His ribs were wrapped by the doctor as Eric shook on the exam table—not because of pain, but because he didn't know how to pay for the treatment. In the end, Godric paid and then handed a copy of the bill to Eric.

Eric smiled a little as he looked up at the painting—his and Sookie's painting. Godric had known that Eric would _need_ to pay him back, and the two had never spoken of the matter—not even when Eric handed him an envelope with the full amount of the bill a week later.

After they had left the hospital, Godric drove Eric to Manhattan, asking him only about how his first semester at Harvard had gone. Eric liked studying at Harvard and planned to get a double major in business and architecture, though he hadn't included the second part of his plan in his "report" to his father. Eric had made all A's his first semester. When they got to Manhattan, Godric dropped Eric off at Bobby's apartment near NYU. Eric hadn't learned until his Christmas meeting with Appius two days later that Godric had gone straight to the Northman Mansion after that.

Appius had been furious about Godric's visit and had spent much of his and Eric's "meeting" telling Eric that it was his fault that he had no place to stay during the holidays. He made sure that Eric knew it was his own defects that kept others from befriending him or wanting him around. He claimed that Godric had demanded money—and a lot of it—for taking care of Eric and reminded the eighteen-year-old how much of an encumbrance he was to his family.

Appius did, however, hand Eric a check for forty thousand dollars at the end of the meeting. Appius explained that the money was all Eric would be receiving from him until he was hired at Northman Publishing after he finished school. With the money, Eric would be expected to buy clothing and other personal necessities. He was to use it to buy his yearly airplane ticket to Sweden, which Appius had bought up until that time. However, most of the money was to finance Eric joining the "right" fraternity and the "right" clubs. Appius gave Eric a list of the organizations that he was expected to be a part of and the achievements he was expected to earn.

The clubs and the fraternity were expensive, but Eric somehow managed to stretch the money until his twenty-first birthday when he got his inheritance from this grandfather John. He'd never had to ask for help again. The forty thousand dollars had paid back Godric for the hospital bill. It had financed his tickets to Sweden, it had covered the school books his scholarship didn't, it had allowed him to purchase clothing at the secondhand shop when he needed it, and it had covered the added expenses he had during his winter breaks from school. But—as Appius had ordered—most of it had been spent on fraternity and club dues.

After Eric turned 21, his life certainly changed. His grandfather John had made him wealthy by giving him a substantial portion of NP stock and a large chunk of money. Eric's business classes had taught him what to do with the wealth to help it to grow, and he had treated the inheritance almost as if it had belonged to someone else—not trusting that it was really his. Plus, his sparse life had taught him to live simply.

However, he had splurged a little. Instead of staying in the dorms, Eric had rented a tiny apartment near campus so that he could study more efficiently. By then, he'd also gotten a job at a coffee shop. He started buying the members of his family appropriate Christmas gifts that year. And he bought his first car: a crappy yellow Datsun that looked as if it was on its last legs every minute, but always managed to get him from point A to point B. But—for the most part—he let his inheritance grow as he put his acumen for investing to good use.

"Hey," Bobby said from next to him. "Why are you smiling?"

"I was remembering the yellow Datsun," Eric returned, looked up at his friend.

"That car was such a piece of shit," Bobby laughed, sitting next to Eric on the bench.

Eric nodded.

"Eric, what's all this about?" Bobby asked quietly after the two had stayed silent for a few minutes. "I mean—I understand why you wanted me to find out about her, given the fact that she told you about the de Castro thing, but you and I both know that the girl's not involved with anything illegal."

Eric nodded. "I know."

"Then why—after three weeks—am I still following around the most boring individual on the planet?" Bobby asked.

"Boring?" Eric asked with surprise in his voice. She was anything but boring to him.

Bobby sighed. "Yes, Eric. Susanna Stackhouse is—perhaps—the most boring individual I've ever encountered."

"Sookie," Eric corrected. "She's Sookie."

Bobby shook his head with confusion and kept his voice low since more people had just wandered into the gallery. "What _is_ she to you, Eric? I've certainly never seen you be interested in a woman for more than a quick fuck. You seem almost," he paused, "protective of Susa—Sookie. Are you afraid that de Castro knows she supplied you with the information about the spies?"

"No," Eric said.

"Then what is it?" Bobby asked.

"I," Eric stopped for a moment. "I _need_ to know her," he shrugged. "I can't tell you why that is. I don't know myself."

Bobby sighed. "Then why not just talk to her?" he asked.

"You know why," Eric responded.

"No—I don't. Why not pursue her if you are so infatuated with her?"

Eric shook his head. "You and I both know that would lead to nothing but pain for her."

Bobby sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," Eric said insistently.

"Are you?" Bobby asked. "You seem a little obsessed with this woman."

Eric laughed ruefully. "I am—a little. Maybe more than a little, but I'll get over it."

Bobby sighed and shook his head. "Okay. Did you get my report?"

Eric nodded. He'd now had Bobby following Sookie for three weeks, and his friend was right. Most would consider Sookie's life to be boring. She rode the subway to work and arrived in the office right on time every day. She left at the end of her workday and rode straight back to Brooklyn, except on Tuesdays when she went to Claudine Crane's office, obviously for therapy. On Saturday mornings, she shopped at a grocery store in her neighborhood. On Saturday afternoons, she went to a public library. On Sundays, she came to the MET. According to Bobby, she interacted with very few people.

"Do you want me to keep following her?" Bobby asked after they had been quiet for a few minutes.

"No," Eric sighed. "Not all the time—at least. But I want you to hire someone part-time to keep an eye on her."

"How do you mean?"

Eric dragged his fingers through his hair. "It seems like she's alone a lot in that house, especially on the weekends. I don't like that. I just want to know that she's," he paused, "safe. So I want someone to watch over her from the time she gets home Friday night to the time she comes here on Sunday."

"So you want a guard for her?" Bobby asked.

"Just someone watching out for her," Eric sighed. "Just so she's not alone so many nights," he added quietly. "And her housemate tends to be home on weeknights."

"I suppose you don't want her to find out about this?" Bobby asked.

"No," Eric responded. "And I don't even want a report unless her routine changes."

"Then why do all this?" Bobby asked.

"Because—I need to," Eric returned.

"Eric, you know that I will help you in any way I can—right?"

Eric nodded. "It's difficult to believe sometimes, but I do know it, Bobby."

"Okay then. I'll ask Alcide Herveaux to watch out for her. He's ex-special forces and between jobs right now."

"Thanks."

Bobby sighed. "I _do_ worry about you, Eric. Before he died, my father asked me to watch out for you."

"You do," Eric said a little gruffly. He shook his head a little as if to clear it. "Isabel is coming back to the city next week."

"That's good," Bobby said with a little smile. "You like her."

Eric nodded. "Yes."

"Are you going to see her?"

"Yes."

"You could do a lot worse than Isabel Edgington," Bobby added.

"I know," Eric responded.

"And Sookie?" Bobby asked.

"Sookie is not for me," Eric said evenly.

"You deserve to be happy, Eric."

Eric said nothing to that.

"Alcide will start on Friday," Bobby said as he patted his friend's shoulder before leaving him alone to his thoughts.

In truth, the concept of happiness was a bit beyond Eric. Certainly, he was better off than he had been before. He made a good deal of money, enough to afford a huge home, though that home came with a big mortgage.

However, when Pam had asked Eric to get a house in the same building she was going to live in, Eric hadn't been able to refuse the idea of living near a part of his family. He'd spent a large proportion of his inheritance from his grandfather John for his down payment. He'd used even more of that money to turn the house into a place that he truly loved—a place that was a sanctuary to him.

And his salary from NP covered his monthly expenses well enough. He was even able to reinvest the dividends he got from his NP stock. However, Eric was not one to trust that he'd have money forever, so he had saved as much as he could.

Unfortunately, the image he was expected to maintain "as a Northman" didn't help him to save as much as he wanted to.

Right after Eric had graduated from business school, Appius surprised the hell out of him by actually hiring him at NP; though Appius had told Eric that was "the plan for his life" from the time he was ten years old, Eric hadn't really believed it would happen until it did. Even more surprising was that Appius invited Eric to live in one of the apartments in Northman Tower. Though it wasn't one of the two penthouses in the building, the apartment was much more luxurious than what Eric had been used to.

Most surprising of all was that Appius had treated Eric better—almost like a son—after he began working for the family company. Eric had felt hopeful; however, he'd also been suspicious—waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He was right to doubt Appius's actions.

As it turned out, Appius had a reason for pretending to "accept" his son, and soon enough, the Northman patriarch told Eric that he was no longer welcome to live at Northman Tower. Eric was, however, ordered to use the apartment for his liaisons—but just so that he wouldn't shame the family by being photographed with some "tart." Appius gave him 48 hours to move his personal items out of Northman Tower.

Not in the position to be picky, Eric had rented a small, furnished apartment on the Lower East Side. Two days after he'd moved in, his grandmother Grace had "visited" him. As soon as she had entered the tiny apartment, she had crinkled up her nose with disgust and proclaimed that his living arrangements were not acceptable and that his choices were going to dishonor all Northmans.

After that, she had spent two hours dictating to Eric what kind of image he was _required_ to project "as a Northman." It had been the longest interaction he'd ever had with his paternal grandmother. She'd left him with a list of "appropriate addresses" and "mandatory social functions." Since then, his grandmother's secretary had emailed him once a month with a "social calendar" that he was expected to adhere to. And if Eric didn't attend all required functions, there was hell to pay from both his grandmother and Appius.

Eric sighed. His grandmother's demands weren't so bad—not really. Many of the social events were also charity functions, and he enjoyed learning about ways he could help people. Plus, it was just better not to rock the boat too much. And he always had his home to give him respite.

Eric glanced at his watch and stood up, looking one last time at the golden wheat field in Van Gogh's painting. It was almost time for Sookie to be done with her morning perusal of the gallery she'd chosen that day. He knew that she would stop by "their" gallery before leaving the museum for her lunch, so he slipped out of the room and went to the control center so that he could watch Sookie sit on the bench he'd been sitting on all morning—the bench he'd arranged as a gift for her.

He knew that seeing her there would make him feel something. Make him feel better.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading—as always. You can expect the next chapter by Friday or so. I appreciate everyone who reviewed the last chapter. As before, I will send a preview to anyone who comments on the chapter. **

**XOXO,**

**Kat**


	15. Chapter 15: Benchmark, Part 2

**Chapter 15: Benchmark, Part 2**

_**March 18, 2012**_

As Sookie sat on her "usual" park bench and ate her lunch, she thought about how her world had changed and then "resettled" in the two months since her two encounters with Eric Northman. If their first interaction had caused her usually heavily structured life to be unsettled completely, the second had placed her squarely back onto her feet and given her to courage to walk forward.

The Sunday after that second encounter, there had been a new bench waiting for her when she went to Gallery 823. It was positioned perfectly—right in front of Van Gogh's _Wheat Field with Cypresses_. However, Eric had not been there, nor had he approached her any other Sunday since then. He'd not sought her out at work either.

Still—Sookie felt the inevitability of another meeting with Eric Northman, even though the thought of it scared her as much as it excited her. As she'd told Claudine the week before, she was anxious to see him again—"anxious" in all of the contradictory connotations of that word. She wanted to see him—more than anything. But she was nervous. She was eager, yet uneasy. Claudine had posited that—based on what Sookie had told her about their two prior encounters—Eric likely felt the same way she did.

Sookie couldn't help but to wonder if Eric was trying to "get ready" for a third meeting just as she was. If his core had been shaken as hers had been, then he, too, may have needed time to steady himself. In truth, a big part of Sookie was glad that he hadn't approached her yet. As much as she longed for him in a way she couldn't explain, she still felt that she needed more time. The feelings that he brought out of her were frightening and exhilarating all at once, and she wasn't quite prepared for them.

However, despite that fact, she was feeling more and more certain of herself every day. She was building a life for herself that made her content, and for the first time, she was feeling "right" in her own skin. She felt "good."

She smiled a little. She couldn't help but to be proud of the progress she'd made—not just to "be more normal," but to accept herself if she wasn't quite normal. She was even beginning to "like" who she was—to like Sookie Stackhouse.

Sookie closed her eyes and enjoyed the warming breeze. A few hardy flowers had already bloomed, though it was not yet officially spring and the winter had been harsh. It had rained the night before, and the world seemed to be teeming with new life. In so many ways, it felt like spring had come to her life too—a spring to replace a bitter, long winter.

Sookie was grateful for the change of seasons, and she was grateful for Eric Northman for unwittingly helping her to change them. She opened her eyes and looked out over the Turtle Pond, which had become one of her favorite places in Central Park. She let her mind wander as she watched the late winter breeze cause ripples in the water.

After the NP party in January, things had happened quickly regarding the de Castro situation—at least as it involved Felipe's spies.

Sookie had "overheard" from the lips of her fellow copy editors that John Quinn, who turned out to be the head of security and who had been the object of many crushes, had been fired the Monday after the party. Though Sookie hadn't known Quinn's name, she had seen him before, and he was a striking man—though her tastes did not include men who were so bulky with musculature. She also wasn't a big fan of the shaved-head look, though she could certainly understand the appeal of his unique eyes and his well-constructed body to others. Dawn, especially, lamented the loss of Quinn since she had enjoyed "hooking up" with him on occasion.

Rumor had it that Quinn had been fired because he and Eric had gotten into an altercation over Nora. Arlene had been the first to "report" the buzz as far as Sookie knew; thus, Sookie couldn't help but to wonder if the redhead had fabricated the entire story to make herself the center of attention. Either way, Arlene's story had quickly spread through Northman Tower.

Arlene claimed to have seen Quinn being escorted from the building the day he was fired. According to the company scandalmonger, Eric had been "supervising Quinn's removal." The next day when Sookie "overheard" the story from two women in the company cafeteria, that "supervising" had turned into Eric and Quinn getting into a fistfight in the lobby of the building before Eric literally threw the larger man out onto the sidewalk. Two days later, the story included Eric being arrested and Quinn being rushed to the hospital by ambulance. Another version reported that Eric had "literally beaten Quinn to a bloody pulp," which necessitated Appius having to bribe a judge to prevent his eldest son from going to prison.

Of course, when the rumors about "what" had happened had not been enough, guesses about "why" it had happened had begun in earnest. Arlene and her cohorts speculated that Eric may have found Nora and Quinn fucking in his own office. And since no one put that kind of behavior above Nora, the conjecture had become rumor and then "fact."

From there, the story evolved to echo each teller's fantasies, as rumors always did. Sometimes, Nora had been screwing Quinn in Eric's office as a kind of revenge since other rumors purported that Eric was still seeing Freyda de Castro on the side. Other times, Nora and Freyda were the ones screwing, and Quinn had needed to restrain Eric from killing the two women out of a jealous rage; in this version, the innocent Quinn had been caught in the crossfire. Other times, Quinn and Eric were the ones fucking, and Nora had walked in on them.

The only fact in the story, as far as Sookie could tell, was that Quinn was gone.

In early February—when it was learned that Sandy Seacrest, Appius's personal assistant, had also been let go the day after the party, another round of gossip jetted through the halls and elevator shafts of Northman Tower. Fueling the rumors was the fact that Sandy's dismissal had been kept quiet. Led once more by Arlene, the bigmouths at NP speculated that Sandy and Appius had been having the affair and had gotten caught _in flagrante_ in Appius's office—by Quinn. Maudette, Sookie's coworker with the most active imagination, speculated that there must have been a love triangle between Quinn, Sandy, and Appius.

Soon after, the rumor spread that it was Appius—not Eric—who had hit Quinn in a jealous rage and that Quinn was lucky to have kept his life. Of course, Arlene yammered that she wouldn't be surprised if Quinn had an "accident" soon. After all, Appius was known for being ruthless, and Arlene ventured that there was more than one body buried in the foundation of Northman Tower.

The week after that, a new wrinkle was added to the story as Andre Leclerq, Sophie-Anne Leclerq-Northman's brother, was thrown into the mix. Rumor had it that Sophie-Anne insisted that Andre be hired as Appius's personal assistant as a condition of her staying married to Appius after his "scandalous infidelity" with Sandy. Arlene even said that she had witnessed the after-effects of a little "cat fight" between Sophie-Anne and Sandy. Arlene claimed that the previous December, Sandy had exited the elevator with a clear hand print on her cheek and that Sophie-Anne had looked "incredibly satisfied" as she followed Sandy out of the conveyance.

It was odd, Sookie thought, that none of Arlene's rabid followers questioned her about why she hadn't spoken of that particular episode before. When Sam overheard her retelling the story at lunch, he did ask that question. Ever the consummate story-weaver, Arlene just shook her head sadly, claiming that she had remained silent in an attempt "to protect Sophie-Anne from her husband's betrayals." To his credit, Sam had just rolled his eyes and walked away from Arlene and her gathered audience.

Even if Sookie hadn't known the real reason why Quinn and Sandy had been fired, she wouldn't have believed the gossip about a love triangle between Quinn, Sandy, and Appius—at least not in the way it was being spoken about. She'd not seen Appius many times, but his body language made her guess that any love triangle between the three would have starred Quinn in the middle.

Moreover, from unintentionally "reading" Andre's lips in the lobby one day, Sookie was pretty sure that he hadn't been put in the office to keep Appius faithful to Sophie-Ann. Far from it! Before Sookie had looked away, she'd picked up that Appius and Andre were incredibly "close" and that Andre enjoyed being tied up with Appius's neckties. Sookie sighed. That was _certainly_ information that she wished she had never "heard."

Of course, Sookie had said nothing about the situation with Quinn and Sandy, even though she knew why they had really been fired. Just the same, she'd been fascinated by the gossip that she "saw" on people's lips and overheard in the ladies' room. As it had grown and spread, she'd studied Pam, the only Northman she saw on a consistent basis. If the rumors about her family had bothered her, it couldn't have been detected by looking at Pam. In fact, her face had held only amusement when she'd walked through the main room of the department one day as Arlene was loudly spreading one of her more colorful tales.

Later, when Nora had come to the editing department for a meeting, Sookie had seen Pam and her talking as they walked toward Sam's office. Pam was telling Nora about Arlene's outlandish slapping tale. "As if," Nora had responded to the story. "Sophie-Anne would never risk a nail by slapping anyone," Nora had observed. The two had shared a laugh before they caught Sookie staring. They'd both given her a somewhat disgusted look; thus, Sookie had quickly buried her nose back into her work, looking forward to the day when she'd be able to move into her new workspace.

The best thing about the office gossip regarding the Northmans was that it took everyone's focus off of Sookie—at least for the most part. However, there was one complication in Sookie's attempt to achieve anonymity. When the yearly proficiency reports came out for the copy editors and Sam met with them as a group, he unintentionally caused the others to be even more contemptuous of her. It didn't surprise Sookie that she had scored well above the others in accuracy and speed, but Sam's giving that information out loud at the meeting certainly made her life a little more difficult for a while. After the meeting, Sookie made a point of "listening in" to her coworkers when they were in the cafeteria discussing their own statistics.

During her next therapy session, Claudine and she'd had a long talk about how Sookie was being treated at the office. Since Sookie was reticent about talking to Sam or confronting those who were bullying her, Claudine suggested a different tactic. Claudine posited that jealousy was just as strong of a motive for the others' disdain as Sookie's "uniqueness." And though it went against both of the women's personal inclinations, they talked about how it might be better if Sookie tried to underperform for a while so that the others' envy would wane. Of course, Sookie could not "underperform" too much if she wanted to keep her job; thus, the information she'd discovered about the other copy editors' rates of speed and accuracy levels had been crucial.

All of the other copy editors were very good at their jobs; otherwise, Northman Publishing wouldn't have hired them. But to limit their errors, they had to work slower than Sookie normally did; plus, occasional mistakes, mostly of the punctuation variety, did periodically creep into their work.

Sookie made the decision that her comfort level at work outweighed her need to be perfect at her job, even though she hated the fact that she was altering herself for the bullies in her department. However, Sookie needed to keep her job, and one more complaint would lead to Pam firing her.

Remembering her school days when she would purposely miss questions on tests so that she would get C's and not A's, Sookie intentionally "missed" a couple of things in her newest project—though she made sure not to leave major errors in the text. At one point, the author had used a hyphen instead of a dash as he should have, but Sookie "missed" that error. At another point, a semicolon had been misused, but she left that too. All told, she left five mistakes in the manuscript—all of them minor, but all of them errors which she would have normally caught.

Sookie waited until right before the book went to publication—while there was still time to make changes even though it was inconvenient—to email Sam about the several "last-minute" errors she'd "just found."

When Sam came to her station to give her his patented speech about punctuation being as important as words—something she'd heard him give at least five times to other copy editors—she celebrated inside, even as the others gloated.

"Sorry, Mr. Merlotte. I'll slow down a bit," had been Sookie's reply to the lecture. And she _had_ slowed down a little after that—her previous "errors" justifying her change in rate. It wasn't in her personality to leave mistakes in people's hard work on purpose, but she _could_ slow down without feeling bad about doing it—especially now that she knew how fast she "should" have been working.

Thus, between the rampant gossip about the Northmans and Sookie's little reprimand from Sam, Arlene and the others stopped paying much attention to Sookie. Also, though it was difficult—since she'd spent most of her life reading lips and still counted on that skill almost as much as her hearing—Sookie tried not to do it as much—or, at least, not as obviously.

Through mid-February, however, her main problem had been that she still worked in a large central space with a lot of people in it. When she saw movement that looked like a conversation, she was automatically drawn to the people's lips. That was how she'd learned to function in school before her hearing had been restored. That was how she had been able to avoid her mother's wrath, so not "listening" was difficult for her.

On March 1, things became infinitely easier for her when she was moved into her new workspace. The office was large and even had a window, and even though part of it was being used for storage, Sookie was happy to have the private space. She was even happier to learn that Arlene had been told by Sam that the move was more for the others' benefit than for Sookie's. Thus, the others had taken Sookie's move as a victory and as a sign that they were being catered to; both of those things were beneficial to Sookie. In fact, since the move, Arlene and the others had all but ignored her, and she was glad that she no longer had to interact with most of the people in her department. With Claudine's help, Sookie was still working on her social skills, but she really didn't want to practice them with people like Arlene, Maudette, and Dawn.

Sookie continued to have a "social" conversation with the familiar guards at the MET every week. Moreover, a new copy editor, Holly, had been hired in mid-February, and the woman had shown immediate disdain for the kinds of conversations and gossiping that Arlene and her cohorts participated in. Holly had not, however, been reticent about befriending the girl the others called "odd." In fact, Sookie and Holly often ate their lunches together, and the two had developed what Sookie would call a casual friendship. Of course, Sookie was still working through her "trust issues," as Claudine called them. But she was getting better each day—even relaxing around Holly. And—of course—Sookie practiced her social skills with Amelia a lot too. She'd even told both Amelia and Claudine about her ability to read lips, as well as about being deaf until she was seventeen. She'd also opened up to Amelia about her interest in Eric, which had been another big step for her.

Sookie smiled. Her number of friends was growing, but she was afraid to let her guard down completely, and some habits were hard to break. For instance, at work, she'd placed her desk so that she was facing the door and not the window. The idea of being sneaked up on still scared her very much.

However, the natural light from her window at work energized Sookie, and she found herself able to work even faster in that light and without the distraction of others' lips moving around her. Of course, that meant that she had to consciously slow down even more; she'd actually taken to reading many of her projects twice or even three times: the first time to copy edit them and the subsequent times to enjoy the books or to learn from them.

When her office door was closed, she would spend some of her time looking outside. Because she was on one of the lower floors of Northman Tower, she saw mostly other buildings, but there were also slivers of sky poking through—mostly white or gray, but sometimes blue. When she saw the blue, she allowed herself to think about the summer sky in Bon Temps. She'd always liked to lie in the sun and stare into the blue sky, which was so often cloudless in Louisiana. She'd loved the vastness of it. And it had provided respite for her. Now when she thought about that blue, she thought about Eric Northman's eyes.

Since their second encounter in January, she'd not seen him at all—not even at a meeting for all NP employees two weeks before. If he had been at the meeting, he had kept to the shadows even better than he usually did. A sixth sense had told her that he was there, looking for her—or looking at her. But she couldn't be sure.

She sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, it was possible—likely even—that Eric had better things to do than to think of her, let alone to look for her.

Two weeks before as she'd sat in the company cafeteria with Holly, Sookie had "heard" the gossip that Eric had moved on from Nora as well as Freyda de Castro. Apparently, he was dating Isabel Edgington, whom he had also dated a couple of years before—at least according to Arlene. Isabel was the daughter of Russell Edgington, who ran _Vibrant_, a fashion magazine. _Vibrant_ was well known for its cutting-edge content and its interactive online version. Amelia raved about it.

Given Eric and Isabel's almost celebrity status in New York high society—as well as Eric's highly publicized dismissal of Freyda de Castro—Eric and Isabel's pictures had been featured on Page 6 of the _New York Post_ quite a few times in the past weeks. The _Post_ had confirmed that the couple was "an item."

Isabel Edgington was beautiful and there was an intelligence in her eyes that came through even in pictures; in truth, she seemed to complement Eric both in looks and in the way she carried herself. She was obviously taller than Sookie, and she looked healthy, even though she was slenderer than Sookie. She had dark hair—almost black—and it shined even in the matte pictures of the newspaper. In fact, Eric and she clearly shined together.

Sookie wanted to dislike Isabel, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Something about the woman seemed "nice," and Eric looked relaxed in the photos that had captured them together. However, for the first time in Sookie's life, she _did_ feel jealousy.

Sookie thought a lot about Eric—even more than she'd done the year before. And she couldn't help but to wonder if he thought about her too. She also couldn't help but to wonder if he was serious about Isabel.

She still didn't know why he hadn't had her arrested or fired in January. In fact, her involvement in the whole Quinn/Sandy/Victor/Felipe thing didn't seem to be known; at least, it was not on the lips of the people she came in contact with.

Sookie sighed and thought about the impossibility of the fantasies she couldn't help but to have about Eric Northman. She touched her lips—remembering what it had felt like to have his lips on hers.

However, she also liked to think about the tenderness of his kiss on her forehead in Gallery 111. Both of those kisses were totally unlike anything she'd ever known before, and they were also so unlike each other. One had ignited her passion, and the other had comforted her like cool water. Both had changed her life.

After them, she'd felt a little more hopeful, a little more confident in herself where men were concerned. She'd even gone out with Amelia and Claudine two Saturdays before, and a man named Preston had taken her number, though he hadn't called her yet. However, it was something.

Again—she couldn't help but to be proud of herself. She knew that she was moving slowly toward what most people would consider "normal," and although she might never get there fully, Claudine had helped her to understand that she only had to get far enough to find happiness for herself.

Sookie smiled as she got up and began to walk slowly back to the MET. By far, the most healing part of Sookie's life remained her Sundays at the museum. During her visits there, she just concentrated on the art and ignored the people who would roam in and out of her chosen gallery for the day.

Her time at the MET was a rest to her. Of course, staying out of sight from anyone with lips that she could read could also be considered as "rest." However, that was isolating. The MET gave Sookie something she'd never enjoyed before. She was around people there; however, the art was enough to keep her from studying those people.

And Sookie found that she liked—really liked—to have people milling around her. She especially liked the families. She had been lonely for so much of her life, and being around people was good for her. Hardly anyone noticed her in the museum, which she also liked. No one was around her long enough to form the opinion that she was "strange" or "odd" or "touched in the head"—as some women in the South had liked to describe her. Plus, going there got her out of her small room, which had four close corners that she sometimes found herself unwittingly staring into.

Moreover, she was learning that most people wouldn't look at her like she was "peculiar" if she just kept her eyes on their eyes—instead of on their lips—when she spoke to them.

With Eric—for some reason—that had been easy. But—then again—looking into his eyes was unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

Sookie sighed as she thought about him again. Each of her visits to the museum included a stop in Gallery 823 now. Though that particular gallery was often well-peopled on Sundays, most didn't spend much time looking at any painting in particular. So—in a lot of ways—Sookie felt like she had _Wheat Field with Cypresses_ all to herself.

And sitting on her bench—her gift from Eric—Sookie could enjoy the room and get lost in her favorite memories, at least a little while.

Sookie understood well that her life would still seem quite closed-off to others, but—in truth—she felt that she was opening up, just like the snowdrops in the park. As if laughing in the face of the cold, those little white flowers were popping up all along the path she always took from the MET to the Turtle Pond. Their buds faced downward, but when she'd "raised the chin" of one of the little flowers, she'd found it beautiful.

Sookie sighed. She'd only approached the kind of contentment that she was currently enjoying one other time—when she had been in her relationship with Bill. But—even then—it wasn't the same. She'd been getting all of her confidence from Bill that time; this time, it seemed to be coming from _her_—from within—despite the fact that Eric had helped to spark it.

Sookie stopped and bent down to look at a particularly dense cluster of snowdrops. Yes. The little flowers were as beautiful as they were tough.

Over the last several weeks, she had been talking to Claudine about Bill—a lot—finally ready to deal with some of the wounds his actions had inflicted upon her. Indeed, Claudine had helped her to realize a lot of truths about the period of her life that she'd been with Bill.

Sookie had just started her second semester of graduate school when she met Bill. Graduate school had proven to be much better for Sookie in terms of how many people she had to be around. Instead of upper division classes with thirty people in them, she had seminars with ten or fifteen. Her living arrangements were also better. Her small efficiency apartment was a place where she could be more comfortable than in the dorms, even though her hall leaders had quit placing roommates with her by the end of her sophomore year as an undergraduate. Understandably, all of her roommates had complained about Sookie's propensity for staring into the corner of the room for hours on end and had requested to be moved within weeks of being placed with her.

As a graduate student, Sookie was also able to do all of her copy editing work from home, which was another godsend, and two days before she'd met Bill, she'd found out that she wouldn't be required to teach any classes since she had her job at the newspaper. Dr. Dekker had arranged for that too. To receive funding for their classes, most graduate students in the English department were required to teach one composition class per semester; happily an exception was made for her because of her other work. Her "oddness" probably also had something to do with the exemption, but Sookie certainly hadn't complained.

Bill had come into her life as a knight in shining armor. Sookie had been walking from the university to her apartment after a late seminar when two men, both of whom had knives, had come out of the darkness. They had demanded her backpack, which Sookie had immediately handed over, but their whispering lips had told her that their demands would not end there, so she'd run from them. They'd caught her easily, and one of them had tackled her onto the grass. In the next moment, she'd heard a scuffle near her and had looked up to see Bill fighting with one of the men. He'd already received a cut on the arm for his efforts.

Luckily, the noise of the fight had alerted the people in the house they were in front of, and Sookie's two attackers were pulled off of Bill and then ran away. Immediately, Bill had seemed more concerned about Sookie than about his own injury. He had helped her to get up and had sat with her as the police questioned her, refusing to go to the hospital to get stitched up until she could go with him to get checked out since she'd suffered a big bump on her head and some bruised ribs when she had been pushed to the ground.

When Sookie "read" from the officers' lips that a rape had occurred in the area just a few hours before and that the suspects matched the descriptions of the men who had attacked her, she was even more frightened and more grateful for the kind stranger's support. From the beginning, Bill was extremely sympathetic and gentle, hardly touching her, but staying close. He even volunteered to stay on her couch while she slept since her attackers hadn't been caught. It had been one of the nicest things that anyone had ever done for her. Looking back, she realized that she had trusted him too quickly, but—given her inexperience and the situation—it had been impossible for her to do otherwise.

A graduate student in computer science, Bill had asked Sookie out for her first date the week after she'd been attacked, and soon after that, they had fallen into a routine with each other. Incredibly busy with graduate school, Bill could spend only two evenings a week with her. And since that was about all she was ready for anyway, it had been perfect.

They would spend their evenings together at her apartment since he said he had roommates. He would bring over a movie and she would cook something for him, or they would order pizza. For several weeks, all he did was kiss her on the cheek as he was arriving and then again as he left for the night. Then one night, he asked if he could kiss her on the lips. Even that kiss, however, had been chaste.

Bill's patience had continued much longer than other men's might have. And she began to reveal certain things about herself to him, even as they slowly became more intimate with each other physically. She told him about her childhood deafness. She also told him about her ability to read lips. She told him about being bullied by kids in her school because of what they perceived as a "handicap." She told him about how she still had a hard time fitting in.

In turn, he assured her that he was happy just being with her—that they didn't need to have others around them. He even drove her to Bon Temps several times during her summer break from school so that she could visit Gran. And—because of Bill—things with her mother had been tolerable too. Not long after their first trip to Bon Temps, she'd given her virginity to him, and the two evenings a week that they spent together turned into two evenings and two nights, as he would sleep over.

Through talking to Claudine, Sookie had begun to understand that she'd fallen in love with Bill not out of some romantic notion, but because of his patience with her and because he'd been so protective after her attack. Plus, he'd been the first man to show her any real interest. Finding out _why_ Bill had been so patient and protective and interested had shattered the trust she'd been able to put into another, which had left her in the extra fragile state she'd been in the year before.

And—of course—that had also caused the "shields" that she tended to put around herself to be thickened. The year before, Eric had somehow rattled those shields—even though she didn't even interact with him. Then Amelia had knocked on them. And then—by seeing Claudine—Sookie had started to try to pry them open from the inside before Eric had effectively burst through her shields with a single kiss in January.

Then the next day, he had put those shields back up with another kiss; however, he'd somehow left her with the key to them so that she could open herself up more to others. She still didn't know _how_ he'd done that, but he had. And she was pleased with herself for taking advantage of that key.

Of course, the negative voice of her mother was still present in her head at times, but Michelle Stackhouse was slowly leaving Sookie's day-to-day existence. And Bill's betrayal was also moving from her everyday thoughts.

So at a pace that would seem painstaking to most but was the only one Sookie could make progress at, the "odd girl" was making baby steps out into the world.

* * *

**A/N: As always—thanks so much for reading! Please forgive me if this had more typos than usual. I've been fighting a summer cold, but I had promised some of you that this chapter would be up today, so here it is. This coming weekend is a busy one for me (a friend is having a bachelorette party), so I might not have the next chapter up until early next week, so please bear with me.**

**Again, thanks for reading, and remember that I will answer comments/reviews with a preview of the next chapter. **

**XOXO,**

**Kat**


	16. Chapter 16: Different Rooms

**Chapter 16: Different Rooms**

**_"Art opens the closets, airs out the cellars and attics. It brings healing." _****–Julia Cameron**

_**June 3, 2012**_

The first Sunday in June was bright, sunny, and warm. May had brought with it four Sundays of spring rain, though it had warmed slightly with each one.

Eric was glad to be outside without any kind of coat or over-shirt on. He stopped by the usual sandwich shop and picked up his usual order. And—as usual—Ben had called it in that morning. Eric had, in the last four and a half months, become "friends" of sorts with all the usual guards that manned the control room on Sundays at the MET. The people on that shift stayed more-less consistent.

Eric had learned that Ben liked consistency, and there was little turn-over within his main crew—which consisted of those in the control room, the guards at the front entrance, and the shift leaders for the other guards that roamed the museum. Ben's main crew of twenty people worked Sundays as well as the earlier shifts on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The only ones that really changed on Ben's crew were the fifty-three "foot guards" that were in constant patrol around the huge museum; Eric had become familiar with some of them too as the months had progressed. However, he liked the close-knit little group in the control room the best, and—by extension—Milos and Jack, who would rotate in and out of that room as the guards took turns eating their lunches.

Ever since that first Sunday when he'd followed Sookie into the MET, he'd returned each week that he could, missing just two so far. He'd been absent those Sundays only because he'd been overseas on NP business. Those weeks had left him so discombobulated that he'd rearranged several out-of-town meetings since then so that he could be back on Sundays.

Eric always got to the museum at around 12:30, and after a few weeks, he'd started to bring lunch for the others on what Tony now called "Sookie Watch." Eric's unerring accuracy about Sookie's choice for her lone picture had gotten him banned from the "official betting pool" after three weeks. However, Doris insisted that he tell them his pick each week.

He'd missed on his guess only twice—two weeks that Doris happened to win. Her only response to him had been an "Uh-huh."

Other than Ben, Eric had appreciated Doris the most out of the crew after that. Other people had won the pool on various weeks, though about half of the time, the prize carried over—especially when Sookie visited a gallery with a lot of pieces in it. Eric could tell that the others won only through lucky guesses, but Doris seemed to understand something about Sookie that most didn't. The shift leaders and quite a few of the more regular roving guards on the Sunday shift also participated in the pool, especially when Sookie was in a larger gallery or the money had been carried over for several weeks; however, Eric really didn't see them much since they generally made their guesses before he arrived. Of course, the "core group" of Ben's crew always got the first picks.

Eric's own Sunday routine put him at the gallery for around five hours each week. He would arrive with the lunch and then watch Sookie finish up her perusal of that day's gallery before she went to "their" gallery, number 823. There she would sit on the bench Eric had had put in for her. Of course, no one on the Sunday crew knew for sure that the new furniture had been made possible because of a donation from him. However, Ben had given Eric a knowing look the Sunday after the bench had been placed right in front of _Wheat Field with Cypresses_.

* * *

Ben Anderson had always been perceptive. Maria, his wife of thirty-eight years, certainly appreciated the fact that he knew when he needed to bring home flowers and when he needed to bring home her favorite bottle of wine. He could always pick up her mood from her tone; hell—he made a point of picking up her mood from her tone. He was not a fan of being the one "in trouble," after all.

His ability to see things that others didn't was what made Ben really good at his job. God knows—he didn't look like he should be the head of security at one of the foremost museums in the world. He was only 5'8", and—though he jogged—he'd never been one to work out with weights. In short, his physical appearance wasn't enough to intimidate anyone. But he'd worked his way up the ranks in security, nonetheless, mostly because his attention to detail was unmatched.

And he _certainly_ knew the difference between a coincidence and a gift, and the bench that had mysteriously made its way into Gallery 823 less than a week after he met Eric Northman was no coincidence. However, he'd still not quite figured out the man who had given a piece of furniture—in a public museum—as a love letter to a woman. All he knew for certain was that Eric didn't mean Sookie any harm and that he was—for lack of a better word—"hurting." Yes—the young man was hurting from the inside out.

However, it was clear that Eric loved Sookie Stackhouse—even if he never approached her. From what Ben had gathered, Eric hadn't known the girl for long, but he seemed to know her "well" nonetheless.

For his part, Ben didn't doubt the power—or the immediacy—of love. His Maria had him happily tethered to her after about a minute of conversation, and Ben had never had reason to doubt his love for her; even after almost forty years, she still took his breath away when she didn't mean to. It wasn't even that he loved her any more or any less than he had the moment he'd first laid eyes on her. It was just that he "knew" her better. He "liked" her better. The "love" part had simply remained the same—a constant in his life. _The_ constant in his life. Ben had worked at the MET even longer than he'd known Maria. He'd seen a lot of art, but he knew that his wife was the true masterpiece.

Ben could recognize the same thing in Eric that had happened to him. At almost sixty years old, he had witnessed many kinds of love. He'd seen the kind that came on slowly. And he'd experienced firsthand the kind that came on like it had been propelled by a rocket. It was _that_ kind that Eric was dealing with, but the young man was also clearly in denial, clearly keeping himself away from the object of his desire for some reason that Ben couldn't quite fathom.

The head of security sighed quietly as he saw Sookie take a seat on Eric's "love letter." He'd seen the light in her eyes when she'd first seen the bench, so obviously it had been the perfect token of affection. Ben figured that the bench was something impersonal enough not to frighten the clearly skittish girl. But it was also a strangely intimate gesture. Ben could tell that the painting it sat in front of was very meaningful to both Sookie and Eric; however, that meaning remained an enigma to Ben, just like the two people themselves.

Even if he never figured them out, however, Ben hoped that they could figure each other out.

In the last months, Ben had grown extremely fond of Eric Northman. He was generous in more ways than just buying them all lunch each Sunday. Several times, he'd asked Ben about the budget cuts at the museum. Almost invariably after their conversations, something happened to temper the deficiencies that Ben had spoken to Eric about. Ben was almost certain that Eric was the source of the improvements that were being made. However, nothing the young man had done had been showy, and he'd certainly not talked or bragged about any actions he'd taken.

While Eric's father, Appius Northman, donated a lot more money, Ben had come to learn that it was always in exchange for something—his name on a whole damned wing of the museum, recognition being given by the Press, or just to outdo another giver. Hell—the Matisse show that had ended a couple of months before had been called the "Appius Northman Matisse Collection."

Eric was obviously different from his father. And—when the young man was unguarded as he lost himself in his observations of Sookie Stackhouse—Ben could sense that there was something sad and deeply broken in him. At those times, every paternal instinct in Ben called out for him to help the young man.

About a month after Eric's visits had started, Ben had asked Eric _why_ he'd not approached Sookie after the first week. Eric's five-word answer had told Ben a lot about the young man. He'd whispered the words: "I do not deserve her."

Ben could only hazard guesses about why the generous, kind young man didn't feel he deserved to approach Sookie. Eric Northman was rich and successful. And—as far as Ben's sharp senses could tell—he was a good man, an honorable man. Yet something big was obviously holding him back.

And Eric was certainly a sought-after young man. Doris would often bring in Page 6 of the _Post_ and would share the latest pictures of Eric and Isabel Edgington with the crew on the days that Eric and Sookie were not there. Invariably—speculations had been made about _why_ Eric came to the MET on Sundays.

Doris's guess was the one that most people—including Ben—believed: that Sookie and Eric were some kind of Romeo and Juliet story, kept apart by their families or because of the differences in their social class. Ben certainly hoped that they didn't end up like that Shakespearean couple.

Intellectually, Ben knew that he should have put a stop to Eric's basically spying on Sookie on Sundays, but he couldn't—not after having witnessed the moment between them in Gallery 111. Ben couldn't hear what they'd said to each other, but it was obvious that there was something special between them—clear even through the black and white video feed.

Plus, Eric generally didn't watch Sookie for long. He—like her—always followed a routine, coming to the MET a little before the time that he knew Sookie would visit Gallery 823. After she left that room to get her lunch, Eric would proceed to the gallery she'd visited that morning. There, he would get lost in his own perusal of the art for a couple of hours—until Ben would call him to let him know that Sookie was on her way back.

Many times, Ben had thought about _not_ calling him; he'd thought about just letting Sookie find Eric in the gallery. Ben wanted to give them a nudge so that they could be together. However, his impeccable instincts told him that Eric and Sookie were not be ready for that nudge. Plus, he didn't want to break Eric's trust. He had a feeling that the young man didn't give it easily, and he wanted to keep it.

After looking through the gallery Sookie had gone to until she returned from her lunch, Eric would always text Doris with his guess for Sookie's favorite piece of the day, and then he would go to Gallery 823 and sit on the same bench Sookie had sat on earlier. After she left the MET for the day, Ben would text him, and Eric would walk down to the control room to find out what she'd chosen, and—against all odds or logic—he was right most of the time.

Doris called the whole thing "romantic." However, Ben thought it was rather tragic. The thought of two obviously lonely and _good_ individuals moving in and out of the galleries in such a way that they were never together in the same room hurt his heart—a little more each week.

However, at the same time, he understood something fundamental. His museum—and, yes, he thought of it as _his_—could heal people. Over the years, he'd seen the power that the art could have on people. He'd seen people break down into tears in front of certain pieces. He'd seen parents hug their children tighter. He'd seen couples embracing as they found some truth in a piece of art. Such revelatory moments didn't happen often, but when he saw one, it always made Ben's heart leap. Ben had realized that the kind of healing that the museum was doing for Sookie and Eric was subtle, but no less powerful for its cunning.

They simply needed time. And the museum was nothing if not a vessel of time.

Ben sighed as he looked at the young man looking at the young woman through the video feed. He was not going to interfere with their healing, even though part of him did want to push the two lonely souls together.

* * *

**A/N: Please forgive this chapter for being shorter than usual. It was originally part of a larger chunk, but that section got too big, and it was difficult to break it up. Plus, it's been a few days since I posted, and I wanted to get you something today, so here it is. I hope you enjoyed a little Ben POV. **

**Thanks to all that wrote in with reviews and comments for the last chapter. For those of you who responded last night and early today—I'm sorry that I haven't gotten back to you yet. I was in meetings most of the day. I'll get back to you soon. **

**And remember, if you have your comments in early enough, I'll send you a sneak peak of the next chapter—unless you tell me not to. **

**Cheers,**

**Kat **


	17. Chapter 17: Conversation Piece

**Chapter 17: Conversation Piece **

Eric strolled around Gallery 758. It was a relatively small room in the American wing of the MET. There were only sixteen pieces, most of them large paintings, and Sookie had left the museum only ten minutes before to get her lunch. Since it was such a nice day, he knew that she would take her time enjoying the park. Thus, there would be no rush trying to look at all the pieces before choosing one. After he made his first sweep of the room, his mind wandered back to what he had learned about Sookie and himself during the previous few months.

After his first Sunday at the MET, Eric hadn't made any direct contact with her; mainly, that was because he didn't want to ruin the trips to the MET for her. He intuited that they were somehow sacred to her, just as they had become to him.

He only allowed himself to watch her for a short time each Sunday—though he wanted to get lost in her for hours. But he felt like he was intruding—stealing away her privacy—if he watched for too long, so he granted himself the luxury of only a few minutes, usually during the time that she was in "their" gallery.

He sighed. Even in the imperfect video feed, Sookie was beautiful, and every week, he was both stirred and comforted when he saw her. But she was not quite the same girl he'd met in January. From week to week, the changes were subtle, but part of him—a part that was deep inside—recognized and celebrated every nuanced transformation right along with her. Sookie stood a little taller, a little more confidently, than she had in January. In March, she had started to interact with people with whom she came into contact in Gallery 823, sometimes having short conversations with them or sometimes just sharing brief nods or smiles with them. Most significantly, her smile when she interacted with the gallery's visitors had transformed from forced and nervous to soft and automatic.

Unable to stop himself, he had mentioned "Susanna Stackhouse" to Pam a couple of times over the months—offhandedly, of course. His sister had reported that the "odd" employee had begun to fit in better. Pam reported that—despite still "staring" at times—"Susanna" had started saying hello "like a human." Pam was grateful that the "normal employees" no longer seemed to be all that bothered by "Susanna" since she'd been moved to a different workspace. Pam was happy that she no longer had "to think about the troublesome girl." After that conversation, Eric couldn't safely ask Pam about Sookie without making her suspicious about why he was raising the topic. However, at least, he got the impression that her job was no longer threatened.

Eric had found out a little more about Sookie by checking the résumé NP had on file for her. She had graduated from college with a 4.0 GPA, receiving bachelor's degrees in both English and Journalism. She'd followed that up immediately with a master's degree in English, also from the University of Mississippi—Ole Miss. In fact, she'd been hired by Sam Merlotte before she'd even finished her M.A., which had been earned in June of 2011, five months after she started at NP. A note in her employee file had been written by Sam Merlotte in July 2011 indicating that Sookie had received a small raise based on earning her higher degree.

All of Sookie's reference letters in the file were short. Every letter spoke of "Susanna Stackhouse's" precision in editing the school newspaper at Ole Miss. None of them spoke of her beyond her work or her work ethic, though the letters hinted that she had been thought of as peculiar by her college professors too. One of the recommenders had indicated that "Susanna" had a "unique way of seeing the world"; another said that she was "singular in her work habits"; the third reported that she worked "best on her own, but could be counted on to do precise work." There was another note in Sookie's file from Sam Merlotte, indicating that he'd heard a stellar verbal recommendation for "Susan Stackhouse" from a professor named Horace Dekker, with whom Sam had also studied. Sam's note indicated that Dr. Dekker had been killed in an accident before he'd been able to send an official recommendation letter; however, after being offered a job during a phone interview with Sam, Sookie had arranged for the requisite three letters of recommendation to be sent by other professors.

After perusing the file and seeing nothing that would have made Sookie stand out above other potential job candidates, Eric concluded that Sam had offered Sookie a job solely on his mentor's recommendation—or, perhaps, because Dr. Dekker had just been killed. Likely, Merlotte had thought of his giving Sookie employment as one last gesture to honor his old professor.

Also in Sookie's file were two formal complaints from a woman named Arlene Fowler in the copy editing department. The complaints accused Sookie of creating "an uncomfortable working environment" for the other employees in the department and cited Sookie's "abnormal staring habit." Sam had written follow-ups to the complaints indicating that he'd spoken to Sookie about trying to adapt her "interpersonal behavior" and to Arlene Fowler about "respecting individual's differences." Merlotte's letters had defended Sookie—at least to a certain extent—and the second of them indicated that he'd moved her workspace "to benefit the work atmosphere of all." Also in the file were Sookie's stellar work records for each quarter she'd been at NP. Not surprisingly, she ranked as the top copy editor at NP, both in accuracy and speed—though her speed had diminished a little in the past quarter.

Eric had learned more about Sookie through Bobby and then—later—through Alcide Herveaux, who still kept an eye on her during the weekends.

Admittedly, Eric had had a momentary doubt about Sookie's innocence regarding the de Castro situation when Bobby had informed him that she lived in a house with Amelia Broadway, the daughter of Copley Carmichael. Copely had always been thought of as a ruthless, though honorable, businessman. He had also been a close personal friend to Appius for many years; however, it seemed that Copely had changed a lot because of the prolonged illness and death of his wife. Bobby had found out that Copely had all but retired, leaving his son, Paul, in charge of his real estate empire. Eric remembered the incident at the NP party three Januaries before when Nora had humiliated herself and upset the widower. Bobby's digging around uncovered that Copely was currently living in the Hamptons and—although he was clearly no longer as close to Appius as he'd been before—he wasn't his enemy either. Thus, in the end, Eric couldn't imagine that Copely would be petty enough to join forces with de Castro to hurt Appius and Northman Publishing.

Although Bobby couldn't find the proper paperwork filed with the borough of Brooklyn, it seemed that Amelia rented a room in her home to Sookie. Amelia was—by all accounts—something of an eccentric and ran some kind of a "New Age" shop in Greenwich Village. She had changed her last name to Broadway, her mother's maiden name, when she'd had a falling out with Copely; however, according to Bobby's information—much of which was gleaned from Claudine—daughter and father had reconciled shortly before the death of Mrs. Carmichael. Bobby had found no connection between any of the Carmichael family and de Castro or Madden.

After receiving confirmation that Sookie was not associated with de Castro through the powerful Carmichael family, Eric had found solace in the fact that Sookie lived with Amelia Broadway. Amelia's house was in one of the safest parts of Brooklyn Heights. Purchased for Amelia by Copley, the home consisted of the first floor of a large brownstone which had been renovated in the 1990s.

However, Eric was not happy about the fact that Sookie was so often alone in the house at night. According to Alcide—who confirmed Bobby's previous report—Sookie's roommate hardly ever spent Fridays or Saturdays at home, leaving Sookie completely alone for almost 70 hours straight each weekend.

For some reason, the thought of her being alone—even in a good neighborhood and with Alcide keeping an eye on her—made Eric nervous. In fact, he never felt completely relaxed until he saw her at the MET on Sundays.

Beyond Sookie's Sunday trips to the MET, Alcide had confirmed that her weekend routine was just as "boring" as Bobby had originally outlined. Sookie didn't have much of a social life to speak of. As expected, she was a creature of habit—at least mostly. On Saturday mornings, she went to a grocery store in her neighborhood—always the same one. There, she would buy a week's worth of food. She transported her items in reusable bags, using a little pull trolley. Going to the public library was always on Sookie's Saturday afternoon agenda. Come rain or shine, she walked a few blocks more to go to the library in Carroll Gardens since the one in Brooklyn Heights wasn't as good. According to Alcide, Sookie always had a full backpack of books to return, and she always left with her backpack just as full.

In the months that Alcide had been keeping tabs on Sookie, she'd been "out" three times on the days he was assigned to watch her. The first had been to a nightclub with Amelia and Claudine Crane. The second and third had been "dates" with a man named Preston Pardloe.

Alcide's first mention of Parloe had been in his April 1 report; Eric had thought—hoped—that it was a goddamned April Fool's prank. But it hadn't been. The day before, March 31, Sookie and a man that Alcide had never seen her with before had had a two hour lunch at a café near Sookie's house. She had walked there to meet him, and he had walked her home. The "date" had ended with the man kissing her cheek.

Immediately after reading Alcide's report, which Eric had received on a Sunday night—after a particularly good day at the MET—he had called Bobby, asking him to find out who the hell the man was and then to investigate him. Thankfully, Parloe had paid at the café with a credit card, so his name had been easy for Bobby to find out. Within two days, Bobby had a complete report for Eric.

Preston Pardloe worked in the Midtown office of Morgan Stanley and rented an apartment in the East Village. He'd gone to college at NYU and worked as a mid-level financial advisor. He had no arrest record. In fact, he'd never even gotten a traffic violation. He seemed perfectly innocuous—a good guy for Sookie to date.

Eric had despised him from the first moment he saw Alcide's report.

Though Eric knew that he had no right to be jealous, he had been. Very.

Sookie and Pardloe's second date had been to dinner—to a restaurant near Sookie's home called Jack the Horse Tavern; Pardloe had picked her up in a taxi. Alcide followed them to the eatery, but stayed outside. From there, he called Eric, who had told Alcide to inform him immediately if Sookie went out with any man again.

Two hours later, the date had ended somewhat abruptly. Pardloe hailed a cab; Alcide, having a car of his own, followed the couple back to Sookie's house, where Sookie got out of the taxi without any signs of affection occurring between them. After that second "date," there seemed to be no further interaction between Sookie and Pardloe. As ashamed as Eric was of himself and as selfish as he felt, he was still glad Pardloe hadn't lasted longer than those two dates.

Eric was well aware of the fact that he had no right to think that way. Hell—he had been fucking Isabel on the night of Sookie's second date, which had been on April 14.

That night, Eric had called Isabel as soon as he'd learned from Alcide that Pardloe had taken out Sookie again. The thought of her being with anyone else had rattled Eric so badly that he had used Isabel to try to un-rattle himself. Immediately, after doing that, he felt empty and even more distressed than he'd been before. He felt guilty.

The next day, he'd met with Isabel and had called things off with her—at least sexually. He'd not had sex with anyone since then either—the longest period he'd gone without fucking since his last semester of graduate school when he'd been swamped with schoolwork.

But that "dry spell" had been necessitated by his being busy. Now, he just couldn't bring himself to fuck anyone; truth be told, he couldn't even bring himself to _think_ about touching any woman—other than Sookie.

But that was impossible.

Eric sighed. When he thought about Sookie's solitary life, he couldn't help but to wonder if it was more or less lonely than the life he led. On the surface, his life seemed lively enough. He went out two or three nights a month—going to high-profile parties or charity events. The parties were the "right" events for someone of his "standing in society" to attend. And the people at them were the "right" people—appropriate "friends" for him to have.

However, the people who surrounded him at the events were not his friends; they were acquaintances and business associates. Only if Pam attended—or if he took Isabel—would he have someone there with whom he enjoyed spending time. However, because most of the functions he attended were dictated by his grandmother Grace, Eric was well aware that he was expected to comport himself in a certain way at them. Plus, he was always given an "agenda" for the evening by his grandmother and/or his father. There were usually people with whom he was commanded to speak. Or there were people with whom he was to be seen and photographed. Other times, there were business deals that he was required to broach with people who were more easily coaxed in a social setting.

Not surprisingly, the events that made up his "social life" felt like a chore to Eric. He used to comfort himself with the fact that the parties were often a prelude to his fucking whatever socialite or starlet he'd taken to them. But—if he was honest with himself—that part of the night, too, had always felt like a chore, something he needed to do to try to feel some kind of pleasure.

Thus, Eric had been pleased when Isabel Edgington returned from Paris in February. The European version of _Vibrant_ had been launched and was running smoothly, so she'd come home to Manhattan. And they had picked up their casual relationship right where it had left off. They accompanied each other to social functions, and, after them, they alleviated each other's sexual tension. They had been the very definition of "friends with benefits."

Certainly, Eric had appreciated the no-strings companionship he had with Isabel more than ever, especially after the debacle with Freyda de Castro. He admired the work that Isabel did greatly, and Russell Edgington was Eric's favorite person among his father's generation. Russell seemed to exist in high society with his sense of humor and his humility intact, extremely rare things among the upper crust of New York society.

Indeed, having Isabel on his arm for events had made them much more palatable for Eric. And the sex had been good, so they had kept having it. It had been just what he thought he needed at the time: physically pleasurable, but emotionally distant fucking. However, even from the first, Eric could tell that Isabel's heart had been in the physical exchange about as much as his had been—not at all. Plus, after that night in April when Eric had literally used Isabel to alleviate his jealously over Sookie having an innocent date, he couldn't in good conscience continue with that part of his and Isabel's "arrangement."

Using Isabel had felt like a betrayal to everyone involved: Isabel, himself, and especially Sookie.

As it turned out, Isabel had been using Eric too. She had been fucking him to try to get over someone else—a fact that had made Eric feel slightly better. She had fallen in love with a married man in Paris—Hugo, who was an artist that she hadn't known was married until she saw him with his wife and two kids one day.

Luckily, after Eric had talked to Isabel about stopping their physical relationship—at least for the time-being—their friendship had actually flourished. In fact, Isabel was the only person—other than Bobby—to whom Eric had told anything about Sookie, though he'd not mentioned her by name. He'd simply told Isabel that he'd met a woman who fascinated him like no other. He'd also told her that Appius would be against the match, so he was not going to pursue the woman.

Eric had appreciated Isabel's candor about the situation. She hadn't tried to give him empty platitudes about "following his heart" or "true love conquering all"; she had perceived enough about his relationship with Appius to know better than that. Isabel was one of only two people who knew that Eric had to get married to a "certain kind of woman" on or before his thirty-fifth birthday if he wanted to become CEO at Northman Publishing. She also knew that Appius considered Eric to be a "place-holder" until Appius Jr. was old enough to take over the company. Eric had told her that these stipulations were part of a contract between him and Appius. However, he hadn't given her any details beyond that.

Even after they'd halted the "with benefits" part of their friendship, Eric and Isabel had continued to go to events together since neither one of them wanted to pursue other relationships—sexual or otherwise—with anyone else at the moment. An added bonus of his still "dating" Isabel was that Appius had backed off about Freyda, whom he had still been advocating even after he'd learned of Felipe's spies. Plus, Isabel was certainly the kind of girl who would meet the "standard" that Appius had set for Eric's wife in their contract. After all, if Eric married Isabel, it would unite two powerful New York families, and Russell had no other heir, so Isabel would be the one to take over _Vibrant_—and all of Russell's other holdings—when her father stepped down.

Indeed, Appius had even offered his "approval" of the match via email when Isabel got back to Manhattan. And—in truth—Eric and Isabel had discussed getting married several times, even after they'd stopped having sex. They both knew that they were a good match in many ways, and they were both very practical people. In fact, they had already reached a tentative arrangement. Unless Isabel was able to find a "love match" before then, she'd agreed to marry Eric on the eve of his thirty-fifth birthday.

However, thinking about marriage like it was just another business matter had made Eric face an important truth about himself: for the most part, his life was empty. Of course he'd known that before; the "new" wrinkle was that this fact had begun to bother Eric—to "fester" in the same part of his soul that celebrated the changes he'd seen in Sookie.

He sighed deeply as he moved on to study another painting more closely. The disconnectedness that he'd cultivated with both others and even with himself had taken its toll—finally and irrevocably.

All around him, he saw people with whom he wanted to have real connections: Ben and the others at the MET, Pam, Gracie, Bobby, and especially Sookie.

Especially her.

He ached for that link down to the bone. But he was scared—terrified of what a connection with her would mean.

It _would_ lead to loss—a loss that _would_ gut him.

To make matters worse, the insomnia from which Eric had suffered throughout his life was more severe than ever before—though, this time, it was partially his own fault. Until he literally became too exhausted to function or to work, he wouldn't allow himself to sleep because when he did, Sookie was always in his dreams.

In some of the dreams, she was simply by his side, giving him a sense of connectedness that would be lost to him as soon as he woke up. Those dreams made his waking hours infinitely more difficult to bear.

In other dreams, he was searching for her, running through the halls of the MET, trying to locate her inside the labyrinth of galleries. Sometimes, he would find her sitting in _their_ gallery, waiting for him, but he could never speak to her, and she would never turn around to see him there.

Other times, he wouldn't find Sookie in Gallery 823; he would find Appius there. His father would laugh at Eric's inability to find her. Then he would tear the Van Gogh painting from the wall and burn it as Eric was frozen in place. The wheat in the painting would blacken and turn to ash.

However, no matter which of the dreams he would have, Eric would always wake up feeling emptier than before.

Every week—by Sunday—he was literally aching to see Sookie. And it was becoming more and more difficult for him not to seek her out at work. Just knowing that they were in the same building had used to soothe him; now it made him restless. Many times, he'd found himself in the elevator, having pressed the button that would take him to her floor. After all, he could just say that he was there to see Pam. Hell—even he might believe the lie.

But he always resisted getting off of the elevator.

Since January, he'd seen her in person only twice—both times at staff meetings in the NP auditorium. However, he'd kept himself hidden from her, arriving at the last minute and stationing himself behind her against the back wall so that he could see only her golden hair.

Watching her through the cameras at the MET was better—safer. There he could maintain better control over his emotions. But, still, he ached.

The worst part was that he somehow knew—intuited with absolute certainty—that Sookie could fill the gnawing hole that had been growing in his chest since he was a child.

More every day, that hole refused to be denied—refused to be ignored.

But Eric wouldn't allow himself to seek comfort beyond seeing Sookie one day a week, even as he knew that continuing to see her like that was a kind of self-imposed torture. But he couldn't stop himself. Being where she'd been and seeing what she'd seen was a way for him to be _with_ her—even if it was a fucked up way that could get him arrested for stalking.

Still, every Saturday night—even as he imposed long hours of sleeplessness onto himself—he tried to talk himself out of going to the MET. But he'd been unable to stay away. Just being near her—and knowing she was safe and content—bandaged him.

However—as long as he kept his distance from Sookie—Eric knew that his father would never know about her. And if Appius didn't know, then she couldn't become one of his tools to inflict pain upon Eric. She couldn't be taken from him. She wouldn't be hurt by him.

Eric knew that he didn't deserve Sookie. And she sure as hell didn't deserve the anguish that he would bring her.

So he stayed away.

However, Eric couldn't deny the changes that being close to her had forced him to undergo. She had made him study himself, and he'd not liked what he'd seen. He couldn't imagine going back to the way he had been before he'd met Sookie. He couldn't imagine picking up a casual fuck, a nameless addition to the long line of nameless women whom he'd had sex with in order to find momentary pleasure. Eric sighed. His only redeeming quality in all of those "relationships" was that he'd always made it clear to the women—before he would even touch them—that he was interested only in fucking them. After he'd laid his cards on the table, he'd let the women decide. Most of them said yes. A few of them said no. Sadly, it didn't matter much to Eric which answer they gave; they had been interchangeable with others.

But Eric hadn't even considered giving Sookie his usual "pre-sex talk" that night in Galley 823 before he'd kissed her for the first time. And after he'd tasted the sun that she offered to his dark life, there had been no way that he could have ever treated her like the other women he'd been with. He still wasn't sure what would have happened between them if she hadn't told him about de Castro and Madden conspiring against NP, but he knew that it would have changed his life even more than she had changed it already.

Before their first kiss, he'd been telling himself that he was just intrigued by the woman with the golden hair—that he was simply going to fuck her, get his fill of her, and then discard her like all the others.

Of course, he'd been lying to himself.

After their kiss, he'd been running only on pure instinct. He'd planned to get her out of the museum and then take her to his home where he'd never taken a woman before. After that, he wondered if he would have been able to let her go.

He closed his eyes tightly before moving on to study the next painting. It was better that he'd never gotten her to his home—never let her fully into his life. After all, she would have eventually been taken from him—in one way or another.

Yes. He was glad that Sookie had shocked him out of his stupor by speaking up about what she knew regarding de Castro and Madden. In the end, it had saved him from having to lose her.

More importantly, it had saved her—from him.

Still, when Eric came to a sudden halt in front of the painting that he knew Sookie would choose as her favorite, he couldn't help but to ask a question that had plagued him since he had first caught a glimpse of her golden hair: What if?

"What if?" he whispered into the gallery, though it was empty except for him.

The painting that had captured his focus was called _Conversation Piece_. It was by Lilly Martin Spencer, whom he had never heard of before that day.

Eric's phone buzzed in his pocket, alerting him to the fact that Sookie was on her way back to the gallery. Just as he did every week, he thought about lingering; he thought about asking her if the painting he was looking at was—indeed—_her_ choice for the day. He thought about telling her that it was _his_ choice too. He thought about telling her _why_ this particular painting touched him more than the others. He thought about asking her why it touched her.

"What if?" he asked himself again, even as he left the room to go into Gallery 759 so that he could slip away without her seeing him. Over the past several months, he had learned how to navigate the galleries of the MET very well, so he quickly worked his way around to Gallery 823, where he sat on the bench and stared at _their_ painting for what felt like the millionth time. He knew every brushstroke. Every line. Every color.

"What if?" he mumbled as he looked at the golden field of wheat.

He closed his eyes. "What if?"

* * *

When Eric entered the control room of the museum a few minutes before 5:30, that two-word question was still in his mind.

What if?

Doris was squealing, signaling that she had won the betting pool for the day. Eric had known that someone would win since there were only 16 pieces in Gallery 758, and more than 16 people would want to bet; however, after Ben's core group, it was first come first serve each Sunday, and no one could pick the same piece as someone else.

Sookie had chosen _Conversation Piece_—as had Doris apparently. Everyone already knew that Eric had chosen the same item since Doris had texted him to find out his choice an hour before.

"What's your secret?" Tony asked Eric with frustration. "How do you always know what she's gonna pick?"

"I don't _always_ know," Eric said, correcting the young guard.

Tony rolled his eyes. "You've known every time, except for—what—twice? So—how did you know that she'd pick the one she did today?"

Eric thought for a moment. The theme of Gallery 758 was "Life in America," and it held work from 1830 to 1860. Many of the paintings in the room depicted domestic scenes—snippets of life. The artists had been—as the description in the room indicated—trying to seize moments of "life" with paint.

_Conversation Piece_ depicted a contented-looking husband and wife, admiring their child. Neither the wife nor the husband had exaggerated expressions as they took in their child; they simply looked "normal"—contented. The infant's face was hidden, but his or her hands reached upward. The man held a sprig of what looked to be cherries over the child's head to entice him or her. There was a discarded toy on the floor, but neither the mother nor the father was concerned about it. The scene was calm and the colors were warm.

The painting held a possibility—though a faint one. It held the question: "What if?"

"It shows a family," Eric said, having to struggle not to let his voice crack as he finally answered Tony's question.

"A family?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Doris said, looking straight at Eric as if she were seeing right into him. "A rich-ass couple that doesn't give a damn about anything—except the little baby smack-dab in the center of the picture."

Eric looked at the woman and nodded slightly. Doris _did_ seem to understand a lot.

"What if?"—the question shot through his mind again.

He decided that—come what may—he had to answer that question. He _had_ to answer it even if he destroyed what little sanity he had left in the process.

So—in the most selfish move he'd ever made in his life—Eric sent a text to Bobby.

He also sent a prayer to God, though he wasn't sure he believed in the deity. The prayer was only one word: "Please."

* * *

**A/N: Hello! Thanks for all the reviews/comments that I got on the last chapter. They were much appreciated! Remember, that I will send you a "sneak peak" of the next chapter if you comment/review (unless you tell me not to).**

**FYI: If you are interested in seeing Conversation Piece, take a look at my WordPress Site. (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com)**

**I'm thinking that it might be Sunday or Monday before the next chapter is posted. I have a wedding to go to this weekend. **

**Please review/comment if you have time, and thanks again for reading! **

**Kat**


	18. Chapter 18: A Moment of Art

**A/N:** **I recently had a comment/complaint? from a **_**guest**_** reviewer when I indicated that the dorms at Harvard closed over winter break. Indulge me while I address that comment and other related issues. **

**First, I hope that you will keep in mind that I'm setting a "fictional" story into "real" settings, and this is difficult. Sometimes, for the sake of the narrative, some things need to be fictionalized a little. **

**However—even if I'm working with vampire characters in the fictional town of Bon Temps—I try to research everything that I can to make my stories as "real" as possible. **

**For **_**Comfortably Numb**_**, I have spent many hours researching the MET, the New York subway system, Brooklyn neighborhoods, corporate law, boarding schools, etc. I have gone through my own travel journals from when I explored the MET and Central Park in order to include a few things that really struck me. Still, I know that there will be things I don't get quite "right" in the story, no matter how hard I try. **

**However, I ****did****—as it turns out—research the question of whether the dorms at Harvard stay open during winter break. I found this Q&A on the Freshman Dean's website: **_**"[Question:] Can students be in the dorms over winter break? [Answer:] All Freshman students must vacate the dorms by 3:00 pm on Saturday, December 21, 2013. Dorms and Houses open at 9:00 am Friday, January 17, 2014."**_** I did not find information specifically for the year Eric would have been there in the **_**fictional**_** world of **_**Comfortably Numb**_**, but I assumed the policy was similar then. There **_**is**_** information about students being able to stay in alternative housing on campus during the holiday under special circumstances, but it is more difficult for freshmen to do that. As far as I can tell, there is an application to fill out and parental/guardian approval is needed. Let's assume that Eric wouldn't have tried for that with Appius. **

**While I don't mind people pointing out inconsistencies and problems with facts in my work, I wish that they wouldn't do it as "guests." I am more than willing to admit when I'm wrong about something and answer questions about continuity and facts, but to do that, I need to be able to respond to a reviewer/commenter. **

**Here's an example of the kind of research I do: Even as I wrote the chapter that follows, I wasn't certain if there was a hotdog truck at the MET in June 2012 (when the chapter takes place). The last time I was at the MET myself, there was one there, but that was before June 2012. But—especially if you are a New Yorker—you may be aware that there's been some controversy regarding the hotdog stand/stands near the MET. The stand I have in mind in this chapter is a "real" one and is run by a disabled veteran. The controversy involved whether the veteran would continue to receive free rent based on his disability. I will admit that I don't know how it all turned out for sure. The closest information I found to June 2012 was a blog for **_**The New York Times**_** from July 11, 2012: "In a Hot Dog Cart, Prime Real Estate on Fifth Avenue" by Corey Kilgannon. (Just google the article to read it.) This would put Mr. Rossi, the vendor, outside of the MET in June 2012, the timeframe of the story. So even though I can't be 100% sure he was there on June 10, I included the detail b/c I once bought a hotdog from this vendor, and it was yummy! However, even if he wasn't there on that day, I'm "pretending he was" for the sake of the story. (I'm also putting sauerkraut, brown mustard, and dill relish on his menu—by the way. I can't remember if he had those ingredients, but it's how I take my "dog" these days, so the Mr. Rossi in **_**CN**_** has them.)**

**Full disclosure: Sometimes I make up "fake things" about "real things" for the sake of the story. For instance, in this chapter, you won't find the "quote" that I wrote regarding Gallery 758 in that room. I made it up for the story. The "quote" is based on the "real" pieces and the "real" theme of the gallery, and I have read many essays about art exhibits before, so the "quote" isn't baseless, but it's not in the gallery at the "real" MET. It is only in the gallery at the "**_**Comfortably Numb**_**" MET. **

**All that said, I hope that you all will "give me a little wiggle room" on the facts—if you see that I've made a mistake (especially a minor one). I have a full time job **_**and**_** a part time job. I have a husband, a home, and four cats to take care of. I'm not a native New Yorker, though I have fallen in love with the city during my visits there. I didn't go to Harvard, though I've visited its beautiful campus. And—yes—my own dorm at a much less prestigious (and less expensive) university closed its dorms during winter breaks. **

**I love writing and sharing my stories with people who love reading them—and I do this free of charge. For myself and all my readers, I spend hours upon hours writing, revising, editing, and—yes—researching to create a story that comes to life in a "real" way. If my job title were "writer"—not "assistant professor" and "lecturer" and "wife"—I would spend even more time. So if you see something you think might be "factually wrong," I just ask that you give me a tad bit of artistic license. And—if you **_**do**_** feel compelled to tell me about it—I wish you would also point out something else about the story: maybe something you like that has compelled you to read all the way to Chapter 14+. Otherwise, it just seems like you are "looking for problems"—nitpicking and maybe even hoping to find them. I really hope that's not the case. Perhaps, you were trying to be helpful, which—again—is appreciated. However, most of all, I hope that you are enjoying the **_**overall**_** narrative. That is—after all—why I write, and a little thing (like whether a Freshman dorm is really open over winter break) seems kind of small (to me) in the grand scheme of things when it comes to this story. However, even if that's what you have a question about (because we are all different, after all), I would be happy to answer it; just don't comment as a guest, and I will. **

**Thanks for reading this message. Now onto the next chapter! Please enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 18: A Moment of Art**

_June 10, 2012_

Sookie smiled to herself as she quickened her pace toward Gallery 823. In fact, for probably the first time in her life, she felt like skipping, but she refrained—likely because she wasn't quite sure how to skip. She forced herself not to giggle out loud at that idea, even as she let her moment of happiness envelop her without a fight—just as Claudine had been teaching her to do.

Through Claudine's guidance, Sookie had realized that she was often her own worst enemy when it came to feeling any kind of happiness. Indeed, Michelle's endless criticism of Sookie had trained her to feel as if she didn't deserve anything good in her life, so she had often resisted "the good" without knowing it; she had run from it without being able to help herself.

However, Claudine had helped her to see that there were many potentially good things waiting for her in the world. There were people ready to befriend her. There were wonderful things she could see and learn about. There were new places to visit.

The trick was to allow herself to experience the "good" without automatically—though unintentionally—disqualifying herself from it because of Michelle's "training." And Sookie was slowly learning to do just that; she wasn't always successful, but she was learning.

It had been a good week. But—more importantly—Sookie had been able to pause her active mind at times so that she could simply enjoy the experience of that week.

That Tuesday, she'd made a big step in her therapy. She'd told Claudine the whole story about Bill, including her niggling suspicions about the night they met. It had been an emotionally exhausting session for Sookie, but she'd felt the better for it. In fact, after she was done talking, she realized that the hurt she'd felt because of Bill's betrayal was gone. So was the love she'd once felt for him. And—in its place was _not_ numbness, which was what she'd felt for so long after she'd learned of Bill's duplicity.

No. Sookie had discovered that she felt "okay" concerning Bill—not quite indifference, but not pain either. His duplicity had left a scar inside of her—to be sure—but it had healed, leaving behind only a phantom sting when she thought about it. Simply put, she felt like she had moved on from Bill and from what he'd done to her. She felt that her relationship with him was now something to learn from, not to be stifled by. And realizing these things had felt good—really good.

And the good hadn't stopped there.

The previous Wednesday had been Amelia's birthday, and Sookie had met up for dinner and drinks with her friend at the Blue Water Grill, a restaurant once featured on _Sex and the City_. The eatery was in Union Square, a section of the city that Sookie hadn't visited, and she'd found herself excited to see and experience the "new."

Claudine and Luna Merlotte had also been at the small birthday gathering. And Amelia had urged Sookie to bring Holly. The five women stayed at the restaurant for nearly six hours all told. The meal was wonderful, and Sookie tried several cocktails that she'd never had before. However, the best part of the meal—the part that Sookie would always remember—was the easy laughter between the women at the table.

They had discussed the funny habits of the men or—in the case of Amelia—the women that they had dated. Luna shared that Sam sang show tunes in the shower—including "I Feel Pretty" from _West Side Story_. Claudine talked about how her current boyfriend wore underwear with comic book characters on it. Amelia bemoaned the fact that she'd been forced to break up with the "best girlfriend she ever had" because she made "geese-like" sounds when they had sex. Holly then talked about how the father of her two children used to wear an exfoliating facial mask several times a week. Sookie even felt comfortable enough to add to the conversation. She told her friends how Bill ironed and starched everything he wore, including his socks and underwear. The laughter around the table was plentiful as the women tried to outdo each other with the ridiculous behaviors of their past or present partners.

Certainly, Sookie had been the shyest of the five women, but she hadn't felt left out. And she'd gone to bed that night with her mouth sore from all the smiling she'd done.

Friday night, Amelia had been sans date for the first time in a long time, and she and Sookie had gone out to see a move. It had been Sookie's first time going to the cinema.

Amelia had wanted to see what she called a "mindless action flick" in order to temporarily forget about her newest break-up, and Sookie was up for anything, so they'd decided upon a movie about an alien invasion called _Battleship_. They had giggled through some of the more ridiculous plot points, and both had agreed that the best part of the movie was "killed off" way too early when a hunky costar was sacrificed in order to create melodrama for the main male lead, who was pretty unlikeable—and not nearly as handsome. Regardless of the fact that Sookie and Amelia hadn't really cared for the movie, they'd had a fun time.

Sookie smiled a little wider. Also wonderful had been the gallery she'd visited that morning. The galleries didn't always fascinate her equally, though she'd found something she could appreciate in each one thus far. But she tended to enjoy it most when history and art wove together, and she'd learned a lot that morning.

She liked choosing the galleries at random. She'd drawn Gallery 301 out of her jar the night before, and it had been packed with ancient Roman and Byzantine pieces, including a lot of interesting jewelry. The gallery even had some items from the Viking culture, which she had been reading about thanks to one of her most recent acquisitions from the public library. Sookie had been especially drawn to all the unique brooches. She couldn't help but to appreciate the decorative functionality of the brooch.

So—yes—the week had been really "good," probably the best she'd ever had. And she couldn't wait to get to her and Eric's gallery where—in a strange way—she could cap it off by spending time "with" him. Or, at least, relive her memories with him. She sighed as she thought about the bench he'd gotten for her. It was the best gift she'd ever received.

* * *

When she got to Gallery 823, however, she stopped in her tracks.

The bench was not empty.

He was there.

She took a breath.

He was there.

She closed her eyes and then opened them again.

He was there.

He was sitting on the bench and looking at their painting. Part of her wanted to back out of the room and leave before he noticed her, but she'd been carefully tending to the flicker of confidence that had awoken in her, and now it was large enough for her to take a step toward him. Moreover, as always, her body seemed to have a mind of its own when she was near him.

She walked to him slowly—the gazelle approaching the lion. And she felt brave. Without a word, she sat on the bench next to him.

Although it was clear that he knew she'd joined him by the way his body tensed and then relaxed, neither of them said anything for a few minutes.

* * *

"You read de Castro's and Madden's lips," Eric finally opened the conversation in a low voice, though his eyes stayed on the painting in front of them. With his peripheral vision, he saw her cringe a little.

He continued, "I imagined corporate espionage. In my most jealous moments, I imagined you had found out about Felipe because you were Quinn's lover. Hell—at once point—I even thought of ESP, but I never thought of lip-reading."

He turned slightly on the bench so that he was looking at her. Her breathing was now faster, betraying her anxiety. He found that he hated making her nervous. Slowly, he reached out and took her hand, keeping his grip light. She was taking steadying breaths now as her eyes stayed locked into his. He found himself taking them with her.

"Would you take a walk with me, Sookie?" he asked after a minute. "It's a nice day."

She nodded, her body answering before her mind could react.

Slowly—as if trying not to scare her off—Eric rose to his feet, but kept her hand in his—now more firmly. She rose with him, and then they walked out of their gallery together.

They boarded the same elevator they'd been in the January before. Neither of them spoke during the short ride down, both of them seeming to hold their breaths.

Eric matched Sookie's pace and then kept his eyes front and center as they passed the front guard station. Milos and Jack's reaction at seeing Eric leave with Sookie after so many months was anything but subtle. Luckily, Sookie seemed too preoccupied with the unexpected situation she found herself in to notice their gaping mouths.

"Hungry?" Eric asked, motioning toward a hotdog vendor at the foot of the MET's steps.

He looked down at her and noticed her nod again.

He squeezed her hand a little and walked them over to the hotdog truck.

"Mustard and sauerkraut," she said in a voice just above a whisper as they got closer to the front of the line.

"Brown mustard—I assume?"

"What else would I have with sauerkraut?" she asked. Coming from anyone else's lips, that statement might have seemed sarcastic or sassy. But from Sookie, it was simply a statement of fact.

Eric smiled, both at her words and the length of her sentence. Other than her warning him about de Castro and Victor, it was the longest sentence she'd ever said to him. "People say that you're odd, but I guess not," he said with a little smirk. "Brown mustard _is_ the only logical choice."

She blushed a little but then gave him a smile in return.

"I like a Coke with mine," he said as the man in front of them was paying for his order.

"Me too," she responded.

Eric nodded and then ordered his own hotdog with brown mustard, chili, and dill relish, before ordering hers. Soon, they each had a hotdog and a can of soda occupying their hands as they walked into the park. Sookie led them to the bench she usually sat on, and they ate silently.

"I should have gotten two," Eric said with a little smile when they both finished. "But I didn't want you to think I was a pig."

"I don't," Sookie said, looking up at him sincerely.

"You _should_," he sighed. "I'm sorry about the way I treated you in January—in the elevator," he said, shaking his head regretfully. "You would be justified to think me an animal."

"You didn't hurt me," she said quickly.

His eyes seemed to be boring into hers as he tested the veracity of her statement. Satisfied, though still obviously regretful, he took their trash to the nearest wastebasket and then held out his hand for her. She took it and stood with him. The two began to walk slowly down one of Central Park's many trails, one leading past the Turtle Pond. The warm spring Sunday had brought out many New Yorkers and tourists.

"How did you find out—about what I can do?" she asked tentatively after a few minutes of silent walking.

He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. "Can we walk for a few more minutes more? I'm afraid that after you know, you will never want to see me again. And I want a few more minutes of this," he said as he squeezed her hand a little.

When she looked up at him, her blue eyes held a million questions, but she didn't ask any of the ones she wanted to. She didn't—because his eyes were imploring her not to.

"Are you an axe-murderer who's chosen me for your next victim?" she asked instead, her lips twitching into a little smile.

He chuckled. "No."

"Okay then."

He shifted the grip of his hand so that their fingers entwined and then led her over to a quiet bench near Belvedere Castle. There they sat for several more minutes, both of them watching their joined hands; their fingers were now moving in exploration. As the minutes passed, each of them got a little lost watching their fingers play and feeling the sparks they created together.

"You make me think so many things, Sookie," he finally stated quietly. "You make me ask so many questions."

"I think about you too," she confessed, as their eyes locked.

He took a deep breath. "After the NP party, I took the information you gave me to my father, but kept your name out of it."

"I figured as much. Thanks," she said.

"That Sunday after the party, I wasn't here because I was following you, though I _did_ have you followed starting later that day."

Sookie gasped a little.

"Don't worry about your observational skills, Sookie. I warned the people I had following you that you were good at noticing things, and they stayed quite far back from you. Plus, both of them are good at being 'invisible' when they want to be."

"Why did you come to the museum that Sunday then?" she asked, ignoring—for the moment—the fact that he'd had her followed.

"Our painting," he said, his free hand running through his hair once more. "I wanted to see the gold in it."

"But I saw you in the other gallery—the Egyptian one."

"Gallery 111," he said. "The _Magic Wand_."

"You remember that?" she asked.

"I remember them all," he said, closing his eyes, afraid of the doubt which had flickered into hers. Their hands had stopped moving against one another's, but she hadn't yet broken the grip they had on each other. He took that as a good sign.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and faced the music of her uncertain gaze. "That Sunday—the first one for me—I followed you into the museum, but lost you. I used the Northman name to get the guards to help me spot you, and on the museum cameras, I watched you. And since then—almost every Sunday—I have continued to watch you—though, after that first week, I haven't let myself watch you for very long. Now, I just watch while you're in _our_ gallery for the most part," he said contritely.

Eric had decided to make his own confessions without implicating Ben or the others. Mostly that was because he didn't want Sookie to know about the bets—at least not until he could gauge how she would react to them. He didn't want for her time at the MET to be tainted in any way.

"You've been stalking me?" she asked, removing her hand from his.

He looked down at his empty hand; her pulling away was what he had thought would happen once he told her. And, also just as he'd thought, he felt cold and empty without her touch.

"Yes. Yes I have been," he admitted. "For five hours a day on Sundays, I am at the MET to see you and to visit the galleries you visit. And yes. I had Bobby—the person I hire for things I need—follow you for three weeks, beginning that day we were in Gallery 111 together. And then after that, I arranged for another person—Alcide—to keep watch over you from Friday evening to Sunday morning."

"Why?"

"Which part?" Eric asked.

"Let's start with the reason your people have been following me," she answered after a moment of thinking.

He nodded. "At first, it was because of the de Castro thing. At least, that's what I told myself."

"And what _didn't_ you tell yourself?"

"That I was intrigued by you? That I felt like a fish on a hook being pulled to you. That I wanted to make sure you stayed safe."

"Me?"

"Don't," he said, grabbing her hand again.

"Don't what?" she asked, not pulling away.

"Don't question yourself like that. You are beautiful. You are intelligent. You are unique. And one look into your eyes made me feel like everything bad in my world could be burned up by your gaze. So don't question yourself like that."

She bit her lip. "You don't know me."

"I feel like I do," he responded. "That's the strangest thing. From the first moment I saw you looking at me, I felt like I _did_ know you. I didn't know _about_ you, but I felt that I knew you all the same."

"Eric," she whispered.

He closed his eyes again—this time to enjoy the sound of his name on her lips. He savored it.

He didn't open them until he resumed speaking almost thirty seconds later. "Bobby followed you all the time for three weeks after the party. I found out where you lived and who you lived with. After I confirmed that Amelia Broadway's father was not in league with de Castro, I _should_ have stopped having you followed. But I didn't. I wanted to know more."

"And what do you know?" she asked hesitantly.

He sighed. "You stay in most nights—except for Tuesdays when you visit a psychiatrist. You go to the grocery store and the library on Saturdays. You come to the MET on Sundays. Your employee report says that your productivity has gone down slightly since last January, but your numerical evaluations from Sam Merlotte have gone up."

"How did you know about my—uh—ability? The lip-reading?"

"Last week, I decided that I needed to answer a question about you—about us. But to do that, first I needed to know how you knew about de Castro." He paused. "I'm sorry, but I _had_ to know the answer," he finished in a whisper.

"To what question?" she asked, her voice also barely audible.

"The most important one," he answered. "What if?"

"What if?" she repeated.

"Yes," he responded. "What if we could be happy—even if it was just for a little while?"

"You're not happy," she stated rather than asked.

"No," he answered simply. "I've never been happy—not that I remember, at least. Have you?"

She sighed and shook her head. "No—not really. I'm better now, and I have happy times, but I'm not really happy—not like I," she paused, "want to be."

He closed his eyes tightly and then opened them. When he did, she could have sworn that he was looking at her from the inside out.

"What ifI could make you happy, Sookie? Even if it was just for a little while—for as long as I could. What if I could be happy? Just for a little while?"

"A little while," she repeated.

"Yes—if only for a moment—a moment of art. Like the gallery last week—Gallery 758."

She smiled a little. "To capture an ordinary moment of life on canvas," she said, remembering the words she'd read in the description of the works in Gallery 758. She'd written those words down in her notebook and had looked at them often throughout the week.

"Yes," he agreed.

"So—you decided to answer the question."

He nodded. "Yes. And to do that, I had to know how you knew about de Castro," he said again, though this time his eyes also held an apology.

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"I did—in January."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you then," she responded.

"Would you have told me if I had asked you last week?"

She nodded. "I think so."

He sighed. "Then I'm sorry I didn't."

"How did you find out?" she asked again.

Once more, he dragged his free hand through his hair. "I sent Bobby to the address you put on your résumé, a house in Bon Temps, Louisiana." He took a breath. "Bobby has a way of asking questions without people knowing that they are being asked," he explained. "And I told him to ask about you."

Eric felt Sookie's hand shaking a little and squeezed it comfortingly.

"No one was home at the address listed, but at the local bar, Bobby found a man named Jason Stackhouse, and he bought him some drinks." Eric sighed. "Jason volunteered a lot of information about you."

"My brother," Sookie whispered.

"Yes," Eric said with a sharp edge to his voice.

"He doesn't much care for me."

"No," Eric said simply.

"What did he tell Bobby?"

"That you were a 'retard,'" Eric said, quoting Jason Stackhouse.

She sighed and smiled ruefully. "He's called me that—and other things—my whole life. I guess that's what big brothers do," she lied. In actuality, she knew that Jason's behavior toward her was much worse than the norm.

"I am a big brother to five people, including Pam. And I wouldn't dare," he said, trying to add just a touch of levity to the serious moment—trying to make her eyes lose just a little bit of their sadness.

"I don't blame you," she smiled a little wider—a little more sincerely. "She _is_ the 'dragon lady,' after all."

"Dragon lady?" Eric asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sookie nodded. "Yeah—the copy editors' nickname for her."

Eric chuckled. "Fitting. I'll have to start using that."

Sookie smiled again and they fell into silence for a moment.

"What else did your person tell you?" Sookie asked.

"Bobby," Eric said.

"Bobby," Sookie repeated. "What else did he learn?"

Eric exhaled loudly. "That Jason calls you Susan. That you spent over half of your life deaf." He paused, "And that your brother is a selfish asshole."

"Did Bobby speak to my mother?"

Eric nodded, an agitated look on his face. "After she had a few shots of rum in her, Michelle Stackhouse told Bobby that she had only one child that she acknowledged."

Sookie breathed in and out slowly. "I guess that's all she's ever really had," she said, her head lowering. "She didn't like it when I turned out," she paused, "different from other kids."

There was a moment of silence between them as he began caressing her palm with his thumb.

"Did Bobby talk to Gran?"

Eric shook his head. "Adele Stackhouse is currently in New Orleans visiting her other granddaughter, Hadley. Your cousin—right?"

Sookie nodded.

"She is in a hospital there," Eric reported.

"Does Bobby know what's wrong with her? The last thing Gran knew, Hadley was on drugs. I've only ever met her once—a long time ago. She was a couple of years older than me—if I remember right. Her mom and mine," she paused, "didn't get along. I think Hadley ran away from home when she was seventeen."

"Bobby didn't go to New Orleans," he responded. "But I will ask him to find out what's wrong with your cousin—if you want."

Sookie shook her head. "It's okay. I call Gran every Monday night; I'll ask her tomorrow. Or—she'll call me if she needs me before then."

Eric nodded.

"Why have you been watching me on Sundays?" she asked, going back to their earlier topic. "Why not just come up to me like you did that first week?"

"I was afraid," Eric admitted.

"Of what?"

"Feeling. I don't like feeling."

* * *

**A/N #2: I hope that you liked this chapter. I have to admit that this section of the story (chapters 18-21) was one of my favorite parts to write. **

**Please comment/review if you have time; I love to hear what you think of the story, and remember that I'm ready, willing, and able to give you a sneak peek of the next chapter (unless you tell me not to). **

**Also, you might want to check out my WordPress site (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com) if you want to see the places mentioned in the chapter. Also, related to the places in the story, a reader recently asked if I'd chosen the Turtle Pond for a location b/c scenes from **_**What Maisie Knew**_** had been filmed there. Until the reader told me, I hadn't even known about that. LOL. I chose the Turtle Pond b/c that's where I meandered to eat my lunch after my first ever visit to the MET. It's actually quite close to the MET. **

**Happy **_**True Blood**_** day.**

**Kat **


	19. Chapter 19: A Little Broken

**Chapter 19: A Little Broken**

_"Why have you been watching me on Sundays?" she asked, going back to their earlier topic. "Why not just come up to me like you did that first week?"_

_ "I was afraid," Eric admitted._

_ "Of what?"_

_ "Feeling. I don't like feeling."_

Sookie nodded in understanding. "Sometimes—no matter what you do—you can't stop yourself from feeling—even if it hurts. Or," she paused, "might hurt."

"No—you can't," Eric agreed almost imperceptibly.

"You said you know me? And not just about me? How?" Sookie asked.

"That first Sunday, you told me that you always choose just one piece in every gallery you visit—just one for your picture."

She nodded.

"After the first week, it didn't feel right to watch you exploring the galleries in the mornings. That time seemed like it should be private for you; it seemed," he paused, looking for the right word, "sacred."

"Church," she smiled a little. "Gran wanted me to find one out here, but I've never liked church."

Eric looked at her in question.

"Too many lips saying too many things that go against everything a church should be about," Sookie sighed. "Church was," she paused, "painful."

"And God?" Eric asked.

"He—or she—has pretty much left me alone for most of my life," Sookie shrugged.

Eric nodded. Faith was a hard thing to hold on to in his world too.

"Me too," Eric agreed. "But sometimes, I see something that makes me have hope that there is something out there—someone out there—who will let me meet my mother again one day."

He was looking right at her, his eyes piercing through her, but she couldn't look away.

"It's a nice thought," she responded quietly. "I'd like to see my father again."

The two were silent for a moment, but their eyes stayed locked.

He squeezed her hand a little. "I know you, Sookie Stackhouse. _Somehow_ I know you," he added, his voice sounding a little awestruck.

"How can you say that?" she asked, finally able to pull her eyes from his. She looked down at their hands, which were still locked together, though now unmoving. She could barely see her hand wrapped up inside of his larger one, but she could feel every molecule of her skin as it tingled with the contact—the electricity—between them.

He took a deep breath. "I've come to the MET nineteen Sundays since we met, Sookie—even though you only knew I was here once. All but two of those times, I was able to pick the pieces that you took pictures of." He paused for another breath. "It doesn't matter how big the gallery is; I almost always know the piece as soon as I see it."

Sookie gasped in surprise as she once more became enraptured by Eric's eyes. They seemed to be absorbing all the blues and greens of the park as well as the light from the bright sun. They swirled with emotion—just like the sky in Van Gogh's painting.

"What about the two times you didn't?" she asked. It was the safer question—much safer than asking him about the seventeen he'd gotten right.

"Gallery 354 and Gallery 919," he said, recollecting the two immediately.

Hearing those two numbers, she couldn't help but to giggle a little. "I had _no_ idea what to do with 919," she confessed.

He nodded and grinned back at her. "Me neither. I'll admit that the galleries with the more modern stuff haven't been my favorites, but there were only eleven pieces in 919." He chuckled. "You'd have thought that I could have at least guessed correctly." He shook his head. "After all, since I've been coming here on Sundays, that's been the gallery with the _least_ number of things that we've visited. Still—I had no idea. It was the only time I picked completely at random."

Sookie nodded in response. "I picked at random too. It took me forever to decide!" she added, laughing lightly at the memory. Eric felt his own mouth turn upwards a little more at the sound.

"I'd just edited a book about Pablo Picasso—the week before I went into Gallery 919," Sookie said. "In it was a quote by Picasso, which said, 'Some painters transform the sun into a yellow spot; others transform a yellow spot into the sun.'" She shook her head. "I _really_ tried to figure out what Clyfford Still was trying to create in his paintings, but I just couldn't see it."

He squeezed her hand affectionately. "Me neither." He hesitated. "I almost picked the yellow one," he said, his focus shifting to her hair.

Sookie took a deep breath; it felt like it got caught somewhere in her throat. "But it wasn't Van Gogh's yellow?" she asked in a whisper.

"No," he responded, reaching up his free hand to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. "It was not."

She sighed and leaned a little into his touch before a wry smile formed on her lips. "I pick _Untitled_."

"Well—then I _didn't_ get it wrong, after all," he said with a wry smile of his own. "I picked _Untitled_ too."

They shared a little laugh. Six of the ten paintings by Clyfford Still in Gallery 919 had been labeled _Untitled_. The others had been titled by year.

"I picked the red one with the blue crack," Sookie said.

"And I picked the orange and brown one with the black crack," he smiled.

"You did?" she wrinkled her nose a little. "Why?"

"It wasn't," he paused and shrugged, "as big as the other ones."

She giggled. "You know—the one you picked was right next to the one I picked."

He nodded. "Both in the same corner."

Her face clouded for a moment.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She bit her lip a little. "What about Gallery 354?"

He didn't comment on the fact that she'd avoided his question. Instead, he answered hers. "Do you remember _House Post_?"

"There were several house posts," she said, her brow furrowing in concentration. "Wait! The one by the windows in the east part of the gallery? The one that looked like a 'Y'?"

He smiled. "Yeah. That's the one."

"From the Sentani village?" she remembered.

"Yeah. I liked how it was both a piece of art and something practical too." He grinned—almost boyishly. "A family used it to keep their house standing up."

"But made it beautiful as well," she added.

"Yes, beautiful," he said, squeezing her hand again.

She smiled. "I liked that one too."

Eric nodded. "My grandfather—my mother's father—would have liked it as well. He ran a publishing house—in Sweden—but he loved architecture too. I guess I inherited that interest from him."

"Are your grandparents why you have a little accent?" she asked, looking at his lips.

"Most people don't hear it," Eric said, a little self-consciously.

"I can _see_ it more than I can hear it," she said softly, still focusing on his lips.

"What do you see?" he asked, his voice lower.

"It's the way your lips move when you say certain things—almost like they are fighting with your brain a little."

"Fighting?" he asked.

She nodded. "It's what people's lips tend to do when they are trying to avoid speaking with an accent."

He looked at her with wonder in his eyes. "It's most likely because of the cadence. Swedish has a different cadence than English."

"You speak it then?" she asked, looking back into his eyes.

"Some. I spent summers with my grandparents there. My morfar—grandfather—spoke Swedish to me. My mormor—grandmother—spoke mostly English."

Sookie smiled. "I _did_ like the piece you picked—the house post. In fact, I thought about picking that one too," she said with some awe in her tone.

"But you picked the _Yam Mask_," he smirked.

"I liked the story behind it," she smiled. "Can you imagine having a person that you exchanged your biggest yam with every year—just to try to prove your manliness?" she giggled.

"No. But it was probably a better—a 'truer'—way of determining social clout than the things that determine it now," he chuckled.

"The size of a yam versus the size of a bank account?"

"Exactly!"

They smiled at each other for a while before turning their focus to the Turtle Pond; in the distance, three small children squealed with delight as they pointed to a cluster of turtles along the shoreline. The breeze had picked up a little, rustling the leaves of the park's lush trees and perfuming the air with the scent of wildflowers.

Both Eric and Sookie were filled with a contented ease that felt—for lack of a better word—"alien" to them. Neither of them was used to speaking so much—and certainly not so openly. And neither of them was used to feeling "close" to another. However, there could be no denying that the two were comfortable being with each other. Their bodies leaned instinctively close, Sookie's head tilted so that it was almost resting on Eric's broad shoulder.

Almost—but not quite.

"This is easy," Eric said quietly. "Talking to you is so easy," he added, his voice betraying his astonishment. "And it's hard."

Sookie looked up at him and nodded. She couldn't help but to agree.

She took a deep breath. "So—the other seventeen Sundays? You were always able to tell which piece I would pick?"

He nodded.

"How?"

Eric sighed. "The things you choose—they speak about who _you_ are. Right?"

She nodded.

"They also speak about who _I_ am."

"Who you are?" she asked.

"Yes."

They were silent for a few moments.

"Eric, how do you know what I'm going to pick?" she asked her question again, this time barely audibly.

"I _don't_."

She looked at him in confusion.

"I pick my own favorites," he said. "Well—not my 'favorites.' It's hard to explain."

"Try?" she requested—not demanding, just asking.

"I choose the ones that make me _feel_ the most," he said after thinking for several seconds.

She smiled a little. "I like that. But I wonder what it means."

"Doris thinks we're star-crossed lovers," Eric said with a little smile.

"Doris?"

"One of the usual Sunday guards in the control room."

"Where you watch me?"

"Yes."

"They must think _you're_ the odd one," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"They do. I'm lucky they haven't called the police. I'm lucky—for once—that I'm a Northman."

"For once? You don't like being one?"

"No," he answered simply. "I don't like being one."

"Eric?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"I don't like being watched when I don't know I'm being watched. It happened a lot when I—uh—couldn't hear. When I was younger."

"After Bobby told me what he learned in Bon Temps—I figured that might be the case," he said begging for her forgiveness with his eyes. "That's why I didn't watch today—not at all. I don't even know what gallery you went to. I just waited for you in ours."

"Thank you," she said, squeezing his hand.

He closed his eyes, thankful for the fact that she was still touching him—that she hadn't run from him. "You _should_ run from me," he couldn't keep himself from saying. His instinct was to protect her, after all. And even if he could no longer stay away, maybe she could protect herself from him.

"Why?"

"People I care for," he paused, "they get hurt."

"Do you hurt them?"

He opened his eyes; they showed more pain than she thought a person could bear—more hurt than she'd even seen in her own eyes.

"Not intentionally," he responded.

She squeezed his hand again, comforting him. "Then there's no reason for me to run," she whispered.

He sighed deeply. There was no fear in her eyes. There was questioning, but there was also acceptance. And—for the first time Eric could remember—the hole inside of him didn't feel so very large. As selfish as he knew it made him, he was glad she'd not run from him.

"Can I watch you?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrow in question.

Her face pinkened a little. "Can I watch you choose in the—uh—gallery I went to today? Gallery 301? I want to know what you pick. I want to watch you pick it."

He smiled at her and stood up, their fingers entwining again. "I'd like that very much," he said.

* * *

Eric felt her eyes on him.

"You're distracting me," he said without turning around. They'd been back in the museum for two hours, but he was yet to get through all of Gallery 301, though he already had a pretty clear idea of what he was going to pick.

Still, there were a lot of pieces that he wanted to look at, and Sookie's presence was _quite_ distracting, especially given the fact that a big part of him wanted to grab her and kiss her until they were both senseless—just as he'd done the first night he met her. Her scent, now fueled by the sun, permeated the gallery, despite the fact that it was a long room; that scent infused him as well. And his dick was threatening to take complete control as he felt her eyes studying him—"learning" him. Those eyes inflamed him.

Strangely, he'd had an easier time controlling his more lustful urges earlier—when they'd been holding hands in the park. Perhaps that was because he'd been so scared of her reaction to his stalker-like behavior.

Or perhaps the few feet now between them literally screamed to be crossed.

_Quickly_.

And with the purpose of tasting her lips again.

January had been too long ago. And there was no denying that he'd been craving the taste of those lips—of the woman. Having Sookie close enough to stimulate all of his senses had only intensified that yearning, especially now that she'd not run from him.

"Sorry," she said half-coyly and half-apologetically. "I don't mean to distract you."

"I know," he smiled. "Don't you have more notes to write or something?"

"Nope. All done," she answered, a smile in her voice. "Just waiting for you."

"Then stop distracting me," he said with a fake growl.

He turned around to see her smiling. She was beautiful.

_Very_ distracting.

"Go sit in the corner or something until I'm done," he said jokingly.

Immediately the smile disappeared from her face, and she stiffened. The air seemed to go out of the room. Eric quickly walked over to where Sookie was sitting and knelt before her, but he didn't touch her.

"I've said the wrong thing," he said softly, frightened by the haunted look he'd unwittingly put into her eyes. "I'm sorry," he added, his voice catching.

Sookie's eyes glanced nervously toward the nearest corner, and she began to shake a little.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Eric. I'm just broken," she said with a quiet whimper.

He wanted to tell her that she wasn't, but he recognized that something in her _was_ broken—just as he knew that something inside of himself was broken. He wanted to promise to fix everything, but he knew that he could never keep that promise. He couldn't fix her any more than she could fix him. He just hoped that he might soothe her—at least for a little while.

Gently, he put his hand against her cheek and turned her head so that she was looking at him again. "Being a little broken makes you no less beautiful," he said softly. "It doesn't make you any less beautiful—to me," he clarified.

Her lip quivered as she was struck by the sincerity in his eyes.

"You think I'm beautiful?" she asked, her tone betraying her disbelief—her bewilderment. Never in her life had she been told that before.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever met," he answered with passion in his voice.

They stayed as they were, her sitting on the bench and him on one knee before her. His hand lingered on her cheek, barely touching her skin. For several long moments, blue eyes met blue eyes. His churned with cerulean and teal. Hers were darker, and there was less green in them; they shone true blue and sapphire, and they searched his as if looking for the answers to hundreds of unspoken questions. Importantly, however, his stubborn gaze wouldn't let her eyes go. Thus, they couldn't retreat to the corner. She could only focus straight ahead, and her heart swelled with gratefulness at that fact.

Their silent moment was interrupted when a new group of people, a large family of tourists from the looks of them, entered the room. Quickly, Eric rose and then silently sat next to Sookie.

Inconspicuously, as was both of their practices, the two watched the family wander around the gallery. Only two of the group members seemed interested in the room; the others looked around restlessly, without seeing much. The family had obviously been in the museum for a long time, probably for most of the day. And they all had slightly glazed over looks in their eyes—as if their minds had been overloaded and could no longer process much information. Both Eric and Sookie had seen that look a lot in their months of visiting the MET.

There were several children in the group—all younger than teenagers from the looks of them. They milled around aimlessly and impatiently while two women in their late thirties or early forties laughed about some of the more showy jewelry in the room.

"I wanna see the Viking sword!" the youngest boy whined in a high-pitched voice after the group had been in the gallery for about five minutes. He looked to be about five or six years old. He also seemed to be in physical pain at having to wait for the women—probably his mother and aunt—to be ready to leave the room.

The child stomped around the room loudly, his long day of having to "appreciate" art obviously causing his temper tantrum. "I wanna see the Viking sword!" he repeated.

Eric watched as one of the men in the group went over and bent down before the child. The man and the child were across the long room from Eric and Sookie, so Eric couldn't hear what the man was saying to the child, but he could see their expressions from their profiles. The man's face remained even and composed, while the little boy's expression went from angry to pouty to finally calm. The boy gave the man a little nod, and the man ruffled the boy's long bangs as he rose. A few minutes later, the women had had their fill of examining the jewelry, and the family left the gallery.

"What did the man say?" Eric asked Sookie, knowing that she had "read" the boy and the man.

Sookie used to hate being forced to tell her mother what she'd "heard" from the lips of others, but she didn't hesitate in sharing the information with Eric.

"The father asked the boy if stomping around and throwing a fit had ever gotten him anything he wanted. The little boy said a reluctant 'no' before the man reminded him that his mom would probably be just as bored by swords and suits of armor as he was bored by jewelry. However, she was still going to go with them to see those things. He also reminded his son that they were going to get him the toy sword that they saw in the gift shop."

"Was the father threatening not to buy it—or to take it away—if the boy misbehaved?" Eric asked, his voice showing his captivation with both Sookie and story she was telling—the snapshot, the moment of life, that she was giving him of the family they'd seen.

"No," she said. "But you're right. Usually parents threaten misbehaving kids with punishment. This one was just reminding. He also reminded his son that his mother was going to be getting some jewelry in the gift shop. He said that by the end of the day, everyone will have seen what they want to see and will have gotten what they want from the shop. And then he reminded his son that they still planned to play with his sword together in the park after they left the museum, but that they had quite a few more galleries from their list to get to—including the ones in the armory that the little boy was excited about."

Sookie and Eric sat in silence for a while. At some point, without either of them noticing when, their hands had come together again.

"I was born in New York—at a hospital only a few blocks from here. My father lives less than a ten minute walk from here. I was about that little boy's age when my mother died." Eric took a deep breath. "After that, my father decided to send me to boarding school, but I was allowed to stay in his house for three weeks a year during my winter breaks." He paused as Sookie's eyes caught his. "My family has donated so much money to this museum that a wing is named after us—as you know—but the first time I walked into the MET wasn't until I was twenty-four, the first year my father told me to come to the Northman Publishing party—the January before I graduated from business school." He exhaled. "I've lived in New York for years. However, I have never seen any of the things that I saw in this room until today."

Sookie could see Eric's battered soul in his eyes as he continued. "And I'm not just talking about the art. I've never seen a father speak to a son like that."

Sookie nodded in understanding. "It was a nice family." She sighed, "Not all families are nice."

"No," Eric whispered. "They are not."

Sookie squeezed his hand, trying to wish the pain from his eyes. They'd turned steel blue and had lost a little bit of their life—their luster.

"I am lucky though," Eric said after a while. "I have Bobby and Pam and my other siblings. And Mormor." He sighed. "But I've never really," he paused, "talked to them. I can't."

"Do you still visit your mormor in Sweden?" she asked, somehow understanding that it was not the right time to ask him "why" he had a difficult time talking to people. Plus, she didn't really need to ask. A part of her already seemed to know.

Eric nodded. "Since I've been working at NP, I've always gone for at least a week in the summer. This year, I am taking two weeks."

"I have my Gran," Sookie said. "I flew to see her at Thanksgiving since the copy editing department was closed from Wednesday to Monday last year. I'd like to see her more often, but staying in Bon Temps longer than that isn't," she paused, "good for me."

Eric nodded. "This year—because of you—I'm planning to visit the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo as well as the Birka Museum in Stockholm. My mormor lives in Lidköping, which is about four hours from Oslo and just a bit further from Stockholm, so I'll take a couple of two-day trips."

She smiled and teased. "Will you see a Viking sword?"

He grinned back, happy that her smile had lifted his mood. He was certain that a single smile from her could lift the whole world from solemnity. "I hope so," he answered.

His body nudged forward—pulled to hers in a way he couldn't understand. His eyes moved to her lips, but he didn't finish bridging the distance to them.

Her eyes stayed on his, studying the way that he seemed to be struggling with something.

"Can I see your phone, Sookie?" he asked after a few moments.

She nodded and reached into her bag for it.

Eric quickly figured out how to turn on the camera. He stood up and walked to a display case near where they were sitting. It didn't take him long to find the piece that he was looking for—a beautifully crafted Viking artifact. It was only a piece of a brooch; most of the brooch—the showy part—had been lost over time. But the part that was left was much more detailed and well-preserved than the other Viking pieces in the exhibit. It was made of niello, silver, and gold and was from the 900s.

At over a thousand years old, the small fragment had stood the test of time. However, since the piece was incomplete, a "normal" person might overlook its beauty. But he wasn't "normal." And he wasn't with a "normal" girl, and in that moment he was more grateful for that fact than he'd ever been for anything in his whole life.

He snapped the picture and went back to sit next to her. The awestruck look on her face told him that he was right about his selection, but that wasn't the thing that he wanted to focus on. He wanted her to know why _he'd_ picked the brooch fragment.

He handed her back her phone, and she stared at the picture.

"It may be broken," he said in an emotion-filled whisper. "But it is still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

She looked into his eyes and knew that he was not talking about the brooch.

* * *

**A/N: For those in the U.S., happy 4****th**** of July! (For those in Great Britain, sorry to rub it in.) ;)**

**I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! This was another fun one to write. You can expect the next chapter on Sunday or Monday. Meanwhile, be sure to send me a comment/review, if you want a sneak peek of what's ahead. **

**All of the art and galleries in this chapter can be found on my WordPress site (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com). **

**As always, thanks so much for reading! And I'd love to hear what you think.**

**Cheers, **

**Kat **


	20. Chapter 20: Five Percent of a Life

**Chapter 20: Five Percent of a Life**

At 4:00 p.m., about an hour earlier than Sookie usually left the MET on Sundays, Eric and she walked out of the museum hand in hand.

Before they left, Eric had thought about introducing her to Ben and the others in his crew, but—not wanting to overwhelm her or to risk damaging her Sunday routine—he decided it would be best to wait. He wanted to be honest with her about everything—no matter how painful the topic—but he just couldn't tell her something that might make her stop going to the MET. Perhaps it was highhanded of him to keep her in the dark, but he couldn't bear the thought of taking away something she loved—even if inadvertently.

They arrived at the bottom of the steps of the enormous museum and stood there a little awkwardly, neither of them really knowing what to do.

He bit his bottom lip apprehensively.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her blue eyes wide and searching as she looked up at him.

He was gripped with fear and doubt. How could he hope to deserve the heart of someone as beautiful as the woman in front of him? How could he tell her that he was in physical pain at the prospect of relinquishing her hand and saying goodbye to her? How could he beg her to let him stay by her side until he was ripped away from it? How could he ask for her time when he had so little to offer in return? In fact, how could he ask for any of those things without sounding like the stalker she probably already thought he was?

"I was going to ask you if I could meet you here next Sunday," he said tentatively.

"You're not going to ask anymore?" she said dejectedly, her question sounding more like a statement.

"Wait," he said quickly, "that's not what I meant." Nervously, he ran one hand through his hair, even as he gently tightened the hold he had of her hand with his other. "I _want_ to see you next Sunday," he assured. "But next Sunday is too long from now."

Her lips slowly turned upward into a beautiful smile. "It is?"

He took a deep, nervous breath. "Will you take a walk with me, Sookie?"

"Now? Again?"

He nodded in answer to both questions.

"Where to?"

"In the park for a while?"

"Okay."

He breathed a sigh of relief and loosened his hold of her hand, but just enough so that their fingers could once more entwine. Now that he was guaranteed more time with her, his heart rate eased and his shoulders relaxed.

The humidity had risen, but the air had cooled and there was a breeze; the late afternoon sun painted the light in Central Park a gentle bronze.

Knowing that it would be several hours before the sunlight began to wane, Eric took Sookie on a meandering walk along several trails that he liked, trying to stretch out the time he could share with her for as long as possible. He first walked them in the direction Cedar Hill, a part of the park that was a lush sloping meadow; there, quite a few people were reading and enjoying the afternoon sun on blankets.

After they crossed East Drive, Eric led them south for a while—before twisting their course through the Ramble. He'd read about a mugging taking place in that area of the park the week before; however, the Ramble was generally safe during the day, and he'd already seen several of the park's security personnel walking the trails. Still, Eric was a little more vigilant as they moved through what was thought of as one of the more dangerous parts of the park, especially for people walking alone after dark or for those venturing off the established paths. However, the Ramble was also one of the most beautiful sections of Central Park. Plus, there was no way in hell that Eric would let any physical harm come to Sookie—not ever again.

He closed his eyes, remembering the night he'd met Sookie. After she'd told him about Felipe and Victor, he'd grabbed her by the shoulders—roughly. Though he knew intellectually that he'd not really harmed her physically, he'd berated himself many times for touching her with any kind of anger whatsoever. He vowed that as long as he was breathing, he would make sure she was never touched that way again.

His thoughts were interrupted by her contented sigh as they walked toward the Azalea Pond. They stopped for a moment to enjoy the beautiful landmark, so fragment with the flowers that populated it in the spring and early summer. Then they wound their way along the twisty path until they got to the Ramble Stone Arch.

Sookie stopped them and looked up at the structure. "This is beautiful," she smiled.

He smiled back, only then realizing that they hadn't spoken since their walk began. It had been the most comfortable silence of his life—despite the myriad of thoughts that had been running through his mind. He knew that the comfort came from having Sookie near—feeling her pulse against his palm, hearing her soft sighs, smelling the faint scent of lavender when her ponytail swished a particular way.

Sookie's stomach growled loudly, interrupting the peaceful moment and causing them both to chuckle.

"Are you hungry?" Eric asked, suddenly excited that a meal would give him the chance to spend even more time with her.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Would you have dinner with me?"

"A date?"

"I thought we'd been on a date since lunch," Eric said with a half-smirk.

"You _did_ buy me a hotdog," she smiled up at him.

"_And_ a Coke," he reminded.

"And a Coke," she repeated.

He glanced down and saw her looking up at him. Her smile was an easy one—carefree—and he felt his blood surge at the thought that he'd been the one to make her beautiful lips turn upward. Her blue eyes shimmered like the slowly rolling waves of Lake Vänern in the cove near the lake house he'd helped his morfar build. The rays of the afternoon sun were framing her hair as if she were their source—as if she were the sun itself. And—in that moment—he felt almost painfully pulled to her like a plant so used to the dark that it bruised itself when greedily stretching for the new-found light.

Before Eric even registered that he had moved, his lips had met Sookie's. It was a kiss much like their first: explosive and all-consuming. Her hands were immediately on his shoulders, then on his neck, and then in his hair. His hands were drawn to her cheeks—craving to be warmed by them. Their lips and tongues moved in complete concert—together and singing. The kiss didn't end until they were both gasping for air.

"I like when we do that," she said breathlessly, for once speaking first when he was speechless.

"Me too," he agreed throatily before bending down to do it again.

This time, their lips moved together more slowly, but no less powerfully. They were lips that were finding, rather than searching. And—again—those lips separated only when their owners were forced to take breaths.

Eric had to work very hard to stop himself from throwing Sookie over his shoulder and taking her deep into the wilderness of the Ramble where he could make love to her. However, he took control over his lustful impulses because Sookie deserved so much better than that. Moreover, she deserved to know what he could offer her _before_ they became more physical. She needed to know the truth so that she could choose—even if that choice would likely put him out of her life forever.

An errant strand of Sookie's hair stirred with the breeze, and Eric automatically reached up to push it softly behind her ear.

"What's wrong?" Sookie asked, sensing his mood change.

"Later?" he asked. "Can I tell you later?"

She looked at him closely, seeing the turmoil in his eyes. "Okay," she said. "Later."

He sighed in relief and took her hand again. He brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss and then moved them along the path once more.

"Dinner would be nice," she said shyly after a few moments.

"Do you like Japanese food?"

"I don't know," she shrugged.

His lips curled into a smile that she read all the way up to his eyes. "Tonight—we'll find out."

"I'd like that. And I like this," she said squeezing his hand, even as a blush rose into her cheeks.

"Me too," he responded, an easy smile now on his lips. "It's easy," he found himself saying to match that smile.

She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.

They fell into silence again as they crossed the lake at Oak Bridge. They stopped in the middle of the structure and took in the view of the skyscrapers in the distance.

"It's a beautiful city," Eric said quietly.

"Yes," Sookie agreed.

"I want to stay in Manhattan," he added, a strain in his voice that Sookie couldn't quite decipher.

"Me too," she said.

He languidly stroked her palm with his thumb, sending ripples through her body that matched the ripples in the lake. She leaned against his side and heard him sigh deeply.

After a few minutes, they continued their walk. As they crossed Balcony Bridge, they saw a young couple—of probably no more than seventeen or eighteen—kissing vigorously. Eric chuckled a little as Sookie blushed furiously.

Once they had walked well beyond the lip-locked teens, Sookie looked up at him. "Is that what we look like—when we kiss?" she whispered shyly.

Eric smiled a little, recalling what Sookie and he _had_ looked like—when he'd seen them in the video at the MET. He shook his head. "No."

She gave him a confused look. "How do you think we're different?"

He shrugged. "They are," he paused, "younger. And for them it's," he stopped, looking for the right word.

"Normal?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes. For us it's not normal at all."

She smiled, glad not to be "normal" for once.

Very glad.

* * *

Two hours later, Sookie had discovered that she did indeed like Japanese food—at least the sushi she'd tasted. In fact, she'd liked it very much. On the other hand, when she'd tried Eric's saké, she'd discovered that she didn't like that strong beverage. But she had enjoyed the Japanese beer that he'd suggested when she told him about her tastes in alcohol.

"I'm stuffed," she said, smiling at him as they left the restaurant. "And I feel," she paused, "happy."

"They call it a sushi high," he chuckled, even though both of them knew that it wasn't just the sushi that had put the smiles on their faces.

He walked them to the street and stepped slightly beyond the curb. Almost as soon as he lifted his long arm, a taxi pulled up. Once they'd settled into the vehicle, he gave the driver Sookie's address in Brooklyn.

"He can—uh—drop you off first," Sookie said, doing some quick mental math. She knew she had enough money to pay for the fare from wherever Eric lived to the nearest subway station. Or—if she wanted to take the taxi all the way home—there was an ATM machine close to Amelia's house, and she could use that to get the fare if she was short on cash.

"I'd like to ride with you—if that's okay?" Eric asked taking her hand.

Trapped in the intensity of his eyes, she couldn't deny him. Plus, she wasn't ready to say goodnight to him either.

Eric and Sookie spoke almost nonstop for the half hour it took them to get to Brooklyn Heights. They talked about food and the art they had seen; the conversation was light and easy.

"Will you come in?" she asked when the cab pulled up to her address. Even in the dark, he could see her blush.

"Yes," he answered without hesitation. It was after 8:00, and he had an early meeting the next morning, but he didn't even consider ending his time with her. It felt too borrowed to squander.

He quickly paid the cabby and then took Sookie's hand and helped her out of the taxi.

"Your housemate isn't home?" he asked, taking in the fact that no lights were on.

"She's staying at her father's estate in the Hamptons. He's having a big party for his sixtieth birthday this coming weekend, and she's helping him get ready for it."

Eric nodded and then dropped Sookie's hand as she took her keys out of her purse.

Once inside, she locked the door and then took his hand again, leading him to her room without a word. She had free reign of the common parts of the house, but only her room was her own.

They sat on the bed together, not quite knowing what to do. They settled into silence, both of them looking at their interlocked hands.

"I should be wary of you, Eric Northman," she whispered—after they'd been quiet for what felt like several minutes.

"Yes," he couldn't help but to agree.

"I've 'heard' things about you—with my ability."

"What have you heard?" he asked with curiosity.

"That you've had a lot of one night stands. That you are dating Isabel Edgington. That you are a," she paused and turned pink.

"I'm a?" he asked.

"Man-whore," she finished sheepishly.

He chuckled. "I guess I am—_was_—a man-whore. But I haven't had any one night stands since last December. And Isabel and I are just friends—now."

"And _before_ now?"

He answered honestly. "We used to sleep together—friends with benefits, one might say. But that ended in April. Now we just go to events together, and being seen with her helps to alleviate some of the pressure my father used to place onto me to get together with Freyda de Castro."

"You know Freyda's a little crazy—right?" Sookie commented.

Eric chuckled. "Yes. But it's better than when Appius wanted for me to hook up with Nora."

Sookie's forehead crinkled. "That's so—uh—gross," she said blushingly. "She's—uh—like your sister."

"_Step_sister," Eric corrected. "But you're right. It _was_ gross. I never wanted to be with her like that."

"Why did you go out with her then?" Sookie asked.

"My father pressured me, and I caved." Eric sighed. "I always do. I took Nora out a few times, and I even tried to—uh—perform with her."

"Not good?" Sookie asked.

"No," he confirmed. "_It_—um—didn't work."

"It?"

He looked down toward his lap. "_It_," he said significantly, certainly feeling life in his cock as it stirred when she glanced in _its_ direction.

She reddened once more. "Uh—why did you try that? With Nora?"

"She thought she wanted me at the time, and she is my father's favorite. He would give her anything."

"You were the 'anything?'"

"Yeah. At least for a little while. Plus, since she's his favorite child—well, except for maybe Appius, Jr. now—he's always wanted her to be a Northman, but having her remain a Gainesborough was also beneficial. And my father didn't want to risk alienating the Gainesboroughs by pushing an official adoption. It was controversial enough when Nora stayed in New York with Appius after her mother died. Of course, Beth's Will was ironclad about Nora's custody." He sighed. "If I married Nora, she would finally be a Northman—in name—and that fact would please Appius."

Sookie sighed. "I know she's not your real sister, but it's all a little," she paused.

"Sick? Yeah," Eric agreed with another sigh. "I am hoping that Nora never develops a renewed interest in me. And if she does, I hope to be able to make an arrangement with her."

"An arrangement?"

"Yes—she can have her life, and I will have mine. Nora cannot have children, so I would not be needed in _that_ respect."

"Oh," Sookie said embarrassedly. After another minute of silence, she asked, "What about all the other women? Did you—do you—care for them?"

"Isabel—yes," he answered truthfully. "I believe that I will come to an arrangement with her—when it's time for me to marry," he added in a quieter tone.

"When will that be?" Sookie asked, her voice betraying her emotion.

"On or before I turn 35," Eric said with heartbreaking matter-of-factness. He looked at her, his eyes filled with regret. "I have to marry a woman who meets a list of qualifications my father has set. There's a," he paused, "contract between us, and if I break it, a lot of people will be hurt. I'm trapped," he finished, his voice breaking around the final word.

She looked into his eyes; she could see the maelstrom of feelings in them, but his resignation was the hardest one for her to take.

"And Isabel? She would meet the list of qualifications?"

He nodded.

"And I wouldn't."

"No," he whispered.

She took a deep breath. "And the other women—the one night stands?"

"They meant nothing beyond temporary pleasure to me. I have never felt," he paused, "_attachment_ to any woman before."

"But there have been a lot of them—a lot of women?" she asked insecurely.

"Yes," he answered straightforwardly. "More than you would think of as decent, but probably fewer than the office gossips would assume."

She nodded and took a deep breath as she took in what he had said.

"Sookie, have you been with anyone before? Have you had sex before?" he asked softly.

Though his question took her somewhat by surprise, she nodded. "Yes. One person. Bill."

"Good," he said, even as he fought his jealousy.

"Good?" she asked, a little surprised by his response.

"Yes. I would never want to hurt you, Sookie, and I'm," he paused, "bigger than most."

Of their own accord, her eyes traveled once more to his waist, and she saw the outline of his manhood in his jeans. She gasped.

"Sookie," he said almost as if in pain. "I want you—_badly_. I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone else. Do you want me?"

She gasped again—this time at the fervor of his words—and took in a sharp breath. She nodded. "Yes. I want you."

"It doesn't have to be tonight, Sookie."

"If it is tonight, will it _only_ be for tonight?" she asked so softly that he could barely make out the words.

"Are you asking if you are like the others?"

"Yes. If I am, I can't be with you," she said honestly, her voice catching. "I already feel," she paused, "attached to you. Maybe I shouldn't because I hardly know you." She sighed. "Or maybe I should be afraid of you after you shook me like you did in the elevator."

"I wish I hadn't done that," he said contritely, "but. . . ." He stopped.

"But?"

"There is no 'but,'" he answered after a moment. "There is _no_ excuse. I could tell you that I was frustrated and angry at the information you had given me. I could tell you that I didn't mean to hurt you—to take hold of you so hard that I probably bruised your skin. I could tell you that I didn't sleep that night because I was worried that I had left a mark on your beautiful body. I could tell you that I really did think you were a spy for a while. Or I could tell you that I wanted you so badly that the thought of you working against me drove me a little crazy. And all of those things are true. But none of those things are justification for me laying my hands on you that way."

He moved his free hand gently to her shoulder and brushed his fingertips over her T-shirt in light touches she could barely feel.

"I _should_ be afraid of you for so many reasons," she whispered as they gazed into each other's eyes, "but I'm not."

"I won't hurt you, Sookie. Never."

"Not physically," she said. "But one day, you'll leave me."

He took his hand from her shoulder and looked down, his own shoulders sloping. He closed his eyes and nodded in concession.

"You'll _have_ to leave me," she added.

He sighed. "Not until I am forced."

"I won't be a kept woman, Eric. I won't be your mistress."

Eric shook his head, the agony clear in his eyes as he reopened them. "I don't have all the answers. I never have. But I won't lie to you. And—as long as we are together—I won't sleep with anyone else. I won't even look at anyone else. I don't think I could."

"What about in the future?"

He closed his eyes again and shook his head a little. "I don't have a future, Sookie," he whispered. "I have only what is expected of me—what will be _forced_ upon me. It is something that I will merely exist inside. And that—to me—is not a future."

"No," she whispered in agreement. "It's not."

He looked at her again, and his tumultuous blue eyes jolted her, causing her heart to ache. "I could have a _now_," he said quietly. "With you, I _could_ have a now," he repeated in almost disbelief.

They stared silently at each other for a few moments: blue lost in blue.

"I've never been selfish before, Sookie," Eric said, holding her hand just a little more firmly than he had before.

She didn't mind the added pressure; in fact, she matched it. "And now?"

"I can't help myself." His blue orbs suddenly filled with tears that he fought to keep from falling. One didn't obey and made its way sluggishly down his cheek. "God help me—I can't help myself," he repeated as if confessing a sin.

She raised her hand to wipe away the lone tear. "Eric?"

"Yes?"

"How old are you?"

"I turned 31 on February 28."

"So we would have less than four years," she sighed.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Three years and eight months of _now_. Three years and eight months to make you happy."

"And you?" she asked.

"As I said, I am being selfish," he responded with a soft smile. "I would be happy too."

"And after that?" she asked.

"We break," he said, his brutal honesty stealing the air out of the room for a moment.

"We break," she repeated—a tone of inevitability in her voice.

"Yes. At least, I will break—when I lose you." He closed his eyes again. "If I were a better man, I wouldn't have put myself in your path today."

"Because I'll break too," she said.

He shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you'll leave a long time before the three years and eight months is over. Maybe you'll realize that I'm not worth breaking for. Sookie," his voice cracked, "I'm not worth breaking for." His eyes seemed to be imploring her to run from him—to get away. They held so much sincerely and warning that Sookie knew he believed his words right down to the core of his being.

"Don't," she said immediately and with just as much passion. "You are beautiful. You are intelligent. You are unique. And one look into your eyes made me feel like everything bad in my world could be burned up by your gaze. So don't."

He sighed. "You have a good memory, Sookie Stackhouse," he said as he recognized the very words he'd spoken to her earlier.

"What about our three years and eight months?" she asked. "What would they be like?"

His expression immediately filled with hope. "I don't know—not exactly. But I feel," he paused, "_good_ when I'm with you." He shook his head a little, as if to clear it. "I want to be with you more than I want to breathe. I know I've gone about it all wrong. I kissed you, only to turn around and manhandle you. I watched you and I had you watched. You _shouldn't_ trust me."

"But you want me to?"

"Yes."

"So we just don't think about what happens after the expiration date?"

"I can't," he said with a pang of desperation in his voice. "I _can't_ think about that."

"Okay," she said quietly.

He took a deep breath. "I've always been good with numbers."

"Numbers?"

He nodded. "Last week—when I was in Gallery 758, I realized that I could be happy for almost five percent of my life if I had three years and eight months with you—if I live to the average age men live to in this country, that is." He chuckled mirthlessly. "When I got home, I double-checked with a calculator, just to make sure."

"Five percent," she said almost wistfully.

"Yeah," he answered. "Actually, 4.8%, but still more than I ever hoped for before. But if you want more than that—and you _should_ want more since you certainly _deserve_ more—then I'll go. I'll leave you alone, Sookie. No more having you followed—not even to make sure you're safe if you don't want that. No more watching. No more anything," his voice trailed off sadly.

She gripped his hand a little tighter and looked down at the hardwood floor in her room. She'd studied the patterns in the wood many times.

"I don't know," she said after a few minutes of silence had passed between them. "I don't know if it's enough."

He raised her chin so that her eyes met his and then brushed a wisp of her golden hair behind her ear. He spoke softly, "You don't have to decide right now, Sookie."

"Next Sunday?" Sookie said as if in question. "Can I tell you then?"

"You can," Eric said. His eyes held uncertainty and sadness, but also something else—hope maybe.

Sookie bit her lip, wondering if her own eyes held the same things. Those were certainly the emotions she was feeling.

"It's okay, Sookie," Eric said with a little smile. "You don't have to give yourself a deadline to decide. We have too many of those already. You're worth waiting for—even if I never," he paused, "have you."

"You have me," she whispered, "already."

"And you have me," he returned.

"I'll _try_ to have an answer for the both of us by next Sunday," she said.

He nodded, the intensity in his eyes growing as he looked at her lips. "Can I give you a goodnight kiss, Sookie?"

"No!" she cried out loudly.

* * *

**A/N: I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks so much for the wonderful comments about the last chapter! I love to read what you have to say, and remember that I will give you a sneak peek if you do make a comment (unless you ask me not to).**

**I have a little news about this story. It has grown to 400,000 words or so. And I've decided to break it into two parts, so **_**Comfortably Numb**_** will be about 200,000 words and the sequel will be about 200,000 words. I'm very excited about this decision because the "mood" of the story changes a bit at the point where I'm going to split it. So—I hope you are enjoying this story b/c you're gonna get lots more of it. I'm almost done with the first draft of both parts. (I should be finished this week!) Then I can spend even more time on editing, which means chapters will come a bit more quickly. **

**Again, thanks so much for reading. If you are interested in seeing the sections of Central Park discussed in this chapter, check out my WordPress site (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com). **

**Best, **

**Kat **


	21. Chapter 21: The One in the Mirror

**A/N: Please indulge me while I answer a "guest" comment. I am responding only because others may have similar questions, and since I'm not posting a chapter every day, all of the inferences/clues in the story might be difficult to discern. Remember—if you post as a guest, I cannot respond to you. Here's the review/comment: "I don't get why he [Eric] has to marry who his father wants him too [**_**sic**_**]. He could just walk away unless he can kill his father off or get control of the business." **

**Through the story, there have been hints about why Eric is trapped in his current life. Let me sum up and then elaborate upon the clues I planted. Many of you have already inferred a lot of this, but I hope to make things clearer for all. **

**1. First, many children of abuse form a kind of codependent relationship with the abuser. The truth is that Eric loves his father, even though Appius doesn't deserve it. And—at least before he meets Sookie—he wants nothing more than to be loved by Appius. He wants his father's respect and approval. But—beyond that—Eric has been "programmed" from the time he was five (that's 26 years!) to believe himself unworthy of love. He has been programmed to fear what Appius can do to him—what he can take away from him. A few more details about Eric's past will be revealed as we go. But let me tell you a hard truth; abused children often crave their parents' love and acceptance, even when their parents are cruel. I speak from some experience. I suffered mental abuse from my father. He died of cancer when I was still in my teens, and even though I turned 40 today (happy birthday to me), I still "hear his voice in my head," I still cry at my memories, I still have nightmares of being told that I am "good for nothing," and I wish he was still alive so that I could "try" with him. And what Appius did to Eric—how he isolated him—is a lot worse than what my father did to me. To make the connection to the books, think of Appius in this story as Eric's abusive "maker" (though the abuse was not sexual). Remember that Appius in the books is a master manipulator, who tries to control Eric a thousand years into his life—AND SUCCEEDS with the Freyda thing. The bond between a child/parent (whether it is vampire or human; fictional or real) can be amazing, or it can be extremely damaging. But it is influential in almost every case. **

**2. On the issue of why Eric doesn't "kill" Appius: well—first of all—this is an all human story. And MOST people don't go around killing others, even if those others are awful people. (Thank God—enough of my students think I am awful every time I return essays so that I would be long gone!) I know that a lot of you hate Appius and want him to be done away with, but humans (unless they too are sick and cruel) don't kill or torture others. Now—I'm not saying that Eric won't come to a moment where he will defend someone he loves, but can you really see **_**this**_** Eric initiating someone's death—to defend **_**himself**_**? I just don't. This is an Eric who doesn't think he's worth it. Moreover, even when he starts to believe that he IS worth it, would this Eric be capable of murder? Or asking another to murder? I don't think so. That's not the way I'm writing him in this world.**

**3. I have mentioned—more than once—a contract between Eric and Appius, which will force him to marry a particular kind of woman. The contract also does other things that are yet to be revealed. Oftentimes, contracts have major penalties for the people that break them. This one does, though you'll find out what those are when Sookie does. You will have to be patient for that knowledge. Think blackmail. **

**4. An important clue was revealed in the last chapter. Excerpt: **_**"There's a," he paused, "contract between us, and if I break it, a lot of people will be hurt. I'm trapped," he finished, his voice breaking around the final word.**_** So this means that—among other things—**_**other**_** people will be hurt if he breaks the contract. Imagine the people that Eric cares about the most: Would a man like Appius target them and blackmail Eric into signing a contract? Yes. Would a man like Appius manipulate Eric by making threats against the people Eric cares for? Uh—hell yes! Why else would Eric be so scared of Appius learning about Sookie? **

**There will be a lot more details coming about the contract, the mental manipulation, and the blackmail by Appius, but I hope the above gives you all (and especially my "guest" reader) some insight. Meanwhile, if you want a story where it is easy for Eric to get away from Appius's influence or where he changes personalities on a dime and just kills his father, then you're going to have to look elsewhere. This Eric could no sooner kill Appius than Sookie could kill Michelle or I could have killed my father. **

**Should abusers—mental/emotional abusers AND physical abusers AND sexual abusers—be punishable by the law? Yes. I think so. Does that always happen? No. And mental abuse is extremely difficult to prove or punish. Should abusers be "killed?" Personally, I'm not a believer in the death penalty, though I think that people who beat, sexually abuse, and/or mentally murder their children should be locked up very tightly forever—preferably in a dark hole somewhere where they can fester in their own misery. I have heard of cases where a child of extreme abuse kills a parent, and I cannot say that I blame people who kill to defend themselves. But I also cannot imagine the damage done to the child when he/she is forced into such a traumatic "solution." **

**Again, I hope this answers the initial question. And remember to sign in before reviewing—or at least include your name so that I can PM you if signing in is a pain. **

**Now—let's get to the story! Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 21: The One in the Mirror**

"_It's okay, Sookie," Eric said with a little smile. "You don't have to give yourself a deadline to decide. We have too many of those already. You're worth waiting for—even if I never," he paused, "have you."_

"_You have me," she whispered, "already."_

"_And you have me," he returned._

"_I'll try to have an answer for the both of us by next Sunday," she said._

_He nodded, the intensity in his eyes growing as he looked at her lips. "Can I give you a goodnight kiss, Sookie?"_

"_No!" she cried out loudly. _

"It's okay," he responded quickly and quietly, lowering his eyes. Sookie could see the disappointment in them. "I understand. I'll just go."

"No," she said again, this time in a softer tone, even as she put her free hand on his leg in order to make sure he didn't get up. "What I mean is that I don't want you to leave."

"But I figured that since we're not going to," he glanced down at the bed and continued almost shyly, "have sex yet, you'd want me to—uh—go. I figured you'd want some time alone to think about—um—everything."

Sookie blushed a crimson red when she, too, glanced at the bed. "I don't need to be alone to think. Would you stay?" Sookie asked hopefully. "We could talk for a while, or we could just—uh—never mind," she stopped abruptly and shook her head.

"Or we could what, Sookie?" Eric asked gently.

She looked back into his eyes, her own orbs wide and searching. "I was going to say that we could," she paused, "sleep, but you have an early morning, and I'm sure you need to get home."

"No," he said immediately and loudly.

She jumped a little, startled by his sudden vehemence and volume.

Eric lowered his voice and chuckled nervously at his own reaction. "I _want_ to stay with you, Sookie," he said intently, his eyes telling her just how much. "The trip to Manhattan will take the same amount of time whether I go now or early in the morning. I'd like to stay and talk—or sleep." He took a deep breath. "I'd very much like to sleep here—with you."

She swallowed hard as she took in the contradictions in Eric's always expressive eyes. They were intense and passionate, but they were also soft and gentle. His hand—still holding hers—was a similar enigma. He had a way of holding onto her tightly, yet tenderly. His skin against hers was somehow both electric and soothing. She couldn't help but to wonder if every interaction she would have with Eric Northman would be full of such contradictions.

"I don't want to toy with you, Eric," Sookie said reservedly. "And I'm afraid that I'm sending you mixed signals here."

"You're not," he assured.

"It's not that I don't want to—uh—be intimate with you," she said almost pleadingly.

"I know," he responded. "And I want to be intimate with you too, but there is more than one kind of intimacy, and I want them all with you."

She gasped a little at his fervor.

Eric continued, "I understand that you need to take some time to decide what you want to do about us before we have sex." He sighed. "You're right about sex changing things; I fear that it _will_ make it harder to let go," he said softly as he caressed her cheek. "I'm just glad that you're not sending me away right now."

"I don't want to send you away."

He smiled. "Thank you, Sookie. Thank you for even considering all this."

She sighed and leaned into his touch. "I'm thankful to you too."

Disbelief and awe flickered into Eric's eyes at her words.

"But I don't want to give you the wrong idea, Eric," she said, her voice still conveying concern. "I don't want to lead you on."

"You're not. We both need sleep—right?" he asked reasonably.

She nodded.

"And if I go home alone, my head will be swimming with you, and I'll toss and turn all night."

She smiled and pinkened again. "I wouldn't be able to sleep either."

"So this is the most practical choice," he said, smiling back at her.

She nodded again.

"So—uh," Eric said, once more looking a little unsure of himself, "how do we do this? I've never actually _slept_ with anyone before."

"Really?" she asked, a confused look on her face.

"Sex does not need sleep," he said gently, the tiniest of smirks framing his lips.

"Oh—of course," she stammered. "Uh—well—I usually put on pajamas, climb into bed, and then read for a while—um—until I can fall asleep."

He smiled. "Sounds good."

"Um—do you—uh—have something you can sleep in? Boxers maybe? Bill slept in those once when he—uh—forgot his pajamas."

Eric immediately bristled with jealousy. He knew he had no right to feel that way, but he did nonetheless.

"I'm wearing boxer-briefs," he informed. "Is that okay? I could sleep in my jeans if it's not. I can sleep in all this—if you want," he said gesturing to the clothing he was wearing.

"No. Boxer-briefs are fine," Sookie said, her voice high-pitching and sputtering a little.

Sookie reluctantly pulled her hand from his and stood up before grabbing a nightgown and her bathroom bag from her dresser.

"I—uh—use the bathroom right across the hall. I'll be right back, and then you can go."

He nodded.

Once in the bathroom, she completed her evening ritual on autopilot, even as her mind teemed with thoughts.

For one thing, she couldn't believe that Eric Northman was in her bedroom! She couldn't believe that she'd just spent the whole day with him. And that day had—undoubtedly—been the best of her life! Even the hardest part of it—finding out that any relationship she had with Eric would come with an expiration date—hadn't ruined what she'd experienced with him that day. She shivered a little as she looked in the mirror.

Along with disbelief, she felt nervous at the thought that she was going to be sharing a bed with the beautiful man waiting for her. Somehow, she knew that he wouldn't make any unwelcome—or welcome—sexual advances toward her, despite his reputation. However, she couldn't quite figure out why she felt so safe with him; she'd certainly never experienced the same level of comfort and trust with anyone else—not even with Bill whom she'd been with for the better part of a year.

Sookie's mind was questioning a million things regarding Eric. Why did being with him feel so good and so natural? How did she seem to _know_ him in some fundamental way that transcended the information she had about him? How was it possible that he felt the same way, despite the fact that they'd spent so little time together?

Amazingly, what she didn't question was his sincerity or the truth of his words. After all, how could she question a connection that she felt from the inside out?

Sookie took a deep breath and noticed that her reflection was smiling back at her. She smiled a little wider. Despite her nerves and her disbelief, the main feeling ricocheting through her was undeniable: happiness.

She gathered up her dirty clothing and other personal items—except for her toothpaste, which she left behind for Eric's use. She made sure a clean towel was next to the sink, and then she walked quietly through the house to Amelia's bathroom. Given the fact that her housemate often entertained "guests," Sookie hoped that Amelia might have an unopened toothbrush.

Sookie's smile stayed in place when she thought about how she now felt comfortable enough around Amelia to "borrow" things from her. Although something simple like a toothbrush was easily replaceable, Sookie would have been reticent to take one in the past—even just a couple of months before. Sookie opened the top drawer in Amelia's vanity and found several packaged toothbrushes. She grabbed one and then double-checked that the front door was locked on her way back to her bedroom.

The sight she saw there made her mouth water.

Eric's bare back was to her, and his muscles rippled just under the surface of his skin like gentle waves over smooth rocks. She heard the zip of his jeans and forced herself to say something before she turned into even more of a voyeur.

"I found a new toothbrush that you can have," she said.

As Eric turned around Sookie gasped a little. If Eric's back was perfect, then his chest was something that odes should have been written about. It was broad and perfectly formed. The muscles that controlled his graceful movements were well-defined, but they were not too large. His torso was long, and it tapered to abs that created a "six-pack" that was obvious, without being too severe. A prominent "V" shape of muscles and smooth flesh drew her eyes toward his unfastened jeans, but she wouldn't allow her gaze to roam lower. She was already blushing as she raked her eyes upward until they rested on his.

She'd expected to see a little arrogance in his beautiful blue orbs—or at least recognition that she'd been gawking at him—but he seemed just as affected by her body as she was by his.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, removing the distance that had separated them with two long strides.

How his jeans stayed up was anyone's guess. And how her eyes kept from straying to the trail of light hair leading downward to his dark gray underwear, which was peeking through his unzipped jeans, was a miracle in and of itself. Her skin heated and tingled at the thought.

Her blush grew deeper as he put his hand on her cheek and tilted her face up a little. All of her life, she had hated being exposed to scrutiny, but under Eric's gaze, she didn't feel apprehension or fear.

She felt only one thing: cherished.

* * *

As Eric waited for Sookie to come back to the bedroom, he was barely able to stay in control of his hormones. In fact, ever since they'd arrived at her house and sat on her bed—a bed that he very badly wanted to test for any squeaks—he'd been having difficulty keeping his libido in check.

But he'd managed to reign himself in. Despite the cravings of his body, he knew that it wasn't the right time to have sex with Sookie. Clearly, she wasn't a person who would be okay with having a one night stand, especially not with someone she truly cared about. And—miraculously—Eric knew that Sookie cared for him. Thus, no matter how much his body yearned for hers, he was determined to give her all the time she needed in order to make up her mind about him and about the limited things he could offer her.

He ached to give her so much more; he ached to give her the world.

But all that he could give was what he had. And he vowed to give her _everything_ he had, leaving nothing behind for himself. He knew that when he was forced to break both of their hearts, he would become a shell again. He recognized that the hole inside of him would be back—and larger. But he couldn't stop himself from craving a little happiness—4.8 percent of a life.

Eric sighed. He knew he was being extremely selfish. He knew that nothing he was offering was fair to Sookie. He knew it wasn't enough.

He buried his face into his hands for a minute and contemplated leaving, getting away from Sookie before they became even more entangled with each other. He wasn't naïve; he realized that leaving wouldn't help to protect his own heart. Whether she was out of his life in three years or three minutes, he recognized that he'd be empty without her. But he figured that it might be less painful for her if he left before they truly got started.

But again he found himself to be selfish—too selfish to go.

Instead, he rose to his feet and looked at the bed. There was a nightstand on either side of it, and from the stack of books on the nightstand closest to the door, Eric could tell which side of the bed Sookie slept on. He walked over to the other side and put his cell phone, wallet, and keys on "his" nightstand. He smiled a little as he saw the items there, looking as if they belonged. He sat down on the bed once more and removed his shoes and socks. He looked around, wondering where he should put them.

Eric saw the open closet door and got up with his shoes and socks in hand. He found an open spot on the closet floor next to Sookie's few pairs of shoes, and he placed his own footwear there. Again, he smiled as he took in how his things looked next to hers.

Almost on automatic pilot, Eric moved so that he was in front of Sookie's dresser. He took off his T-shirt. Seeing how tidy everything was in Sookie's room, he folded the garment and placed it on top of the dresser before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.

"I found a new toothbrush that you can have," Sookie's soft voice said from behind him.

Eric turned toward that voice like a moth to a flame. And once he saw Sookie in her white nightgown, all thoughts except for those of his yearning for her left his brain. Beyond his command, one part of his anatomy in particular took notice of her curves, and Eric could feel the pressure of that part against his unfastened jeans.

Eric had seen women in lingerie many times, wearing small pieces of lace and silk that left very little—or nothing—to the imagination. By contrast, Sookie's white cotton nightgown was downright conservative. The garment had thin straps which led to a modest neckline; only a hint of her smooth cleavage swelled above the fabric, but that hint was more than enough to tantalize him. The bodice of the nightgown both concealed and embraced Sookie's breasts, and Eric almost growled in passion as he realized that there was no way she could be wearing a bra. The nightgown gathered at a high waste and then the fabric fell in an easy way before ending several inches below Sookie's knees.

Lifting his eyes to her face, Eric couldn't stop his sharp intake of breath. Without doubt, he knew that Sookie's sweet face was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She didn't wear much make-up, but now that her face had been scrubbed, he could see several freckles he'd not noticed before. Her cheeks were a natural pink, contrasting with the faint tan of her complexion. And her eyelashes, though not blond, were lighter than they were with mascara.

He would have said that she looked "innocent" or "pure"—like an angel—but she was so goddamned sexy in that moment that those were the last words that entered his mind.

She was blushing as their eyes locked, and in that moment he knew that she'd been checking him out just as much as he'd been checking her out. Generally, he would have made a snide comment if he caught a woman ogling him so blatantly, but that would have been hypocritical, giving his own study of Sookie's body in her nightgown. Plus, she had once again left him almost speechless. _Almost_.

"You're beautiful," he managed to say as he found himself in front of her and caressing her ruddy cheek. He couldn't remember crossing the room to get to her. Hell—he wasn't even sure he remembered his own name in that moment. But he committed her face and the softness of her skin to his memory. Those things—those precious things—he would never forget.

"You're beautiful," he said again. "So beautiful."

She smiled at him, her eyes showing her acceptance of the compliment.

He smiled back and took the toothbrush she was holding out for him. "Thanks," he said, using that word to convey his gratitude for much more than the toothbrush. He bent down and gave her the slightest of kisses on her golden hair. Anything else and he may not have been able to stop himself for worshipping every inch of her lovely body.

Eric crossed the hall and went into the bathroom. His dick was pushing uncomfortably against his unfastened jeans, but at least the strong denim had kept his erection from being too obvious.

"Down boy. Not tonight," Eric whispered to his aching member as he relieved the pressure it was under by pushing his jeans over his hips. He sighed with relief as his dick was now encumbered only by his soft underwear. Knowing that he'd need to take his time in order for his swollen member to "settle down," he turned his attention to getting ready for bed.

After folding his jeans and putting them onto the counter next to the sink, he splashed some water on his face—and then a little more. He was nervous and excited by the prospect of sleeping with Sookie. But—at the same time—he felt guilty.

Again, Eric contemplated leaving, running shoeless and shirtless into the night. But that would be running _away_ from his heart's desire. And he just didn't have the strength to do that—not anymore.

Instead, he opened the toothbrush Sookie had given him and brushed his teeth. Then he sat on the edge of the tub and waited for his erection to go down enough for him to use the bathroom. It took him ten minutes of reciting memorized poetry in his head before his dick finally cooperated.

While washing his hands, he looked in the mirror. The man he saw there looked unfamiliar. He looked younger than he had that morning. He looked lighter. His shoulders were relaxed. He had a small smile on his lips. He looked happy.

Eric had never seen the man before.

* * *

**A/N: Hello—I know this chapter is shorter than the norm, but I wanted to get you something tonight. My birthday is today, and friends are taking me wine tasting tomorrow, so I won't be "in commission" tomorrow or (probably) Sunday. ;)**

**That said, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for all the comments and reviews I got for the last one! **

**Best,**

**Kat**


	22. Chapter 22: The Good Kind of Fear

**Chapter 22: The Good Kind of Fear**

_Again, Eric contemplated leaving, running shoeless and shirtless into the night. But that would be running away from his heart's desire. And he just didn't have the strength to do that—not anymore._

_Instead, he opened the toothbrush Sookie had given him and brushed his teeth. Then he sat on the edge of the tub and waited for his erection to go down enough for him to use the bathroom. It took him ten minutes of reciting memorized poetry in his head before his dick finally cooperated. _

_While washing his hands, he looked in the mirror. The man he saw there looked unfamiliar. He looked younger than he had that morning. He looked lighter. His shoulders were relaxed. He had a small smile on his lips. He looked happy. _

_Eric had never seen the man before._

* * *

Barely controlling the butterflies in her stomach, Sookie turned on the two lamps in the room and then turned off the overhead light. She got into her bed, noticing for the first time just how small it seemed. She propped her pillows up a little and leaned against them, trying to analyze why she felt so ready—impatient even—for Eric Northman to sleep in her bed.

It certainly wasn't because she'd had wonderful experiences sharing a bed with Bill in the past. On the nights that Bill would stay with her, they slept together after they had sex, but Bill had claimed that he would get too hot if he held her during the night. Thus, sharing a bed with Bill hadn't really been that intimate; of course, now that she knew better, Sookie understood that sex with Bill hadn't been that "intimate" either. After all, true intimacy couldn't be based on deception and manipulation.

She'd been with Bill for quite a while before he'd kissed her on the lips and for quite a while longer before she'd lost her virginity to him. After that, they'd quickly fallen into the routine of spending two nights a week together: every Monday and every Wednesday—like clockwork.

Those nights were always the same, and even for Sookie, who enjoyed routine, they'd seemed scripted—too scripted. At precisely 9:30 on each night that they spent together, Bill would take her hand and lead her to the bedroom. He would always turn around to undress himself, so that is what she would do too. Then they would both climb under the sheets.

Bill would initiate their kissing immediately, and the path he followed was always the same. He would spend a little time on her lips. Then he would move to her breasts, which he seemed to like. Then he would trail kisses back up to her neck—often marking it or her collarbone with a small hickey—before giving her a last kiss on the lips.

After that, he would grab the condom he'd left already opened on the nightstand. From their first time to their last time, he always entered her from above. Bill seemed to enjoy the missionary position, and Sookie had never had sex any other way, so she had nothing to compare it to, nor had she been confident enough to ask for anything else.

Plus, that position had felt nice—except for her first time, which had hurt a little. Bill had—to his credit—gone slower that first time, even touching her a little to make sure she was "ready" before he put his member into her. The touching had been especially pleasurable, but—unfortunately—after that first time, touching was no longer part of the routine. It was as if Bill prioritized their actions, and anything that didn't fit into his timetable was simply left out.

As if even his ejaculations were on a schedule, Bill would "finish" at around 9:45 each night they had sex. Then he would always lie on his back pulling her to his chest until the clock on her bedside table read 10:00. Those minutes of cuddling soon became Sookie's favorite part of sex. However, at 10:00, Bill would indicate that he needed to get to sleep. At that point, he would get up, go to the bathroom, shower, and put on his pajamas before getting back into bed.

Sookie had soon learned that his preference was for her to do the same as soon as he was done in the bathroom. So she would. He was always snoring—his back turned away from the bed's center—by the time she was done with her shower.

Still—despite the formulaic nature of it—she _had_ liked sex with Bill. It had felt good, and—for once—she'd felt like a "normal" girl.

After their second time together, Sookie had even felt confident enough to rock her hips along with him, and doing so had increased her pleasure. However, when she'd gotten lost in her enjoyment and had tried to move a little more, Bill had groaned in frustration as he lost his rhythm. After that, Sookie had concentrated on keeping her hips still during sex, which seemed to make Bill happier as he slipped in and out of her at a rapid cadence, taking himself to completion with the consistency of a metronome.

Especially during her first month of having sex with Bill, Sookie hadn't questioned his bedroom behavior; in fact, in her nervous inexperience, she'd welcomed the routine. However, eventually her mind went back to the information she'd found out about sex throughout her life. It was certainly a common topic, so the lip-reader had "overheard" quite a few conversations about it. People tended to discuss it as something extremely coveted and pleasurable. And—if the shape of Bill's mouth were any indication—he certainly seemed to have a transcendent moment each time they had sex. So—naturally—Sookie had begun to wonder what was wrong with her and why her body couldn't produce an orgasm during sex.

Other than the lips of people whispering about sex, most of what Sookie knew about physical intimacy had come from a Harlequin Romance novel she had discovered in Gran's bookcase. Not knowing what kind of book it was, Sookie had read the romance novel one Saturday after she'd finished _To Kill a Mockingbird_, a book she'd brought home from the school's library. It was about six months after Sookie had moved in with Gran, and the older woman was spending the day with a sick friend. Gran had always said that Sookie could borrow any book she wanted, but Sookie had been reticent to do so, not wanting to disturb anything and risk being sent away. However, that day, she'd picked a title off the shelf that had always caught her eye: _Separate Lives_. On the cover was a man and woman who looked happy as they sat on the floor playing with a couple of kittens.

Needless to say, the book had been eye-opening to the introverted sixteen-year-old.

Not long after reading _Separate Lives_, Sookie had touched herself for the first time and discovered how to bring herself to an orgasm. The people whom she had overheard talking about orgasms at school and church had been right; they were wonderful. However, after a few months of having sex with Bill, Sookie reconciled herself to the fact that she was somehow broken, for no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the pleasant pressure that built inside of her while Bill was pumping in and out of her, she could never get over the edge—so to speak.

Resolving to be grateful for the nice sensations she did get from sex with Bill, Sookie had concentrated on doing anything she could to make things better for him. His lips showed her that he liked it when she gripped his upper arms while he was thrusting into her. He also groaned a little more pronouncedly when she spread her legs wider when he was inside of her, and even though her impulse was to wrap her legs around him, she did what he enjoyed.

She also started reading some articles and books about sex, hoping to learn more specific information so that she could be pleasing to Bill. Some of the articles suggested that sex between a couple improved as they got to know each other's bodies more and more. Thus, Sookie began to hope for that.

But other things in the articles that she read made her apprehensive. Almost all of them indicated that "spice" and "variety" were necessary in a long-term sexual relationship, so Sookie began to fear that Bill would become bored or frustrated with her. She also worried that he'd set such an unvarying routine only to accommodate her.

Consequently, she decided that she needed to try to do something more for Bill. Her lip-reading had told her that many people enjoyed oral sex, so she read several articles about how to give a man a blow job, and after downing half a bottle of wine before Bill arrived one night—and then another glass with dinner—she gave him one. Bill had seemed to enjoy himself and had definitely had a release, but he'd made no attempt to return the favor—so to speak. They'd not had regular sex that night either, nor had there been any cuddling; however, Sookie still hoped that the new facet of their sex life might eventually lead to other things and make him happier with her.

She'd been wrong.

The second time Sookie had tried to take his member into her mouth, Bill told Sookie not to. He'd lectured her matter-of-factly that it was "untoward for committed couples to do such things and that—as a proper lady—she shouldn't even want to do them." He'd said that he was actually happy that she was such a "neophyte—and so unskilled—in the art of fellatio." He added that while he had appreciated her "efforts to please him," he didn't want her to continue doing such "a degrading thing." Of course, his words had taken the wind out of Sookie's sails when it came to trying new things.

Those words had also made her feel ashamed—ashamed that she had, as Bill claimed, degraded and cheapened herself somehow. And—given her own inexperience—she had followed Bill's lead. In fact, she had even stopped herself from "wanting" to have an orgasm with Bill after he'd explained that "proper women ought not to be overly passionate." She'd also stopped bringing herself to releases on the long, lonely nights when she had sexual urges.

Despite her growing nervousness about sex, however, Sookie had been grateful to be in a relationship—too grateful to "rock the boat." With Bill, she had no longer faced a future of perpetual loneliness. And even though he didn't touch her or hold her as much as she would have liked, it had been nice hearing his breathing and feeling his warmth from the other side of her bed when he stayed over. She hadn't necessarily gotten more or better sleep when he was with her, but she had enjoyed not being alone.

Given her past, it had been easy for her to accept what she'd been given without complaint.

However, Bill had started to seem distracted during sex in the last couple of months they were together, and Sookie feared that it was because she was doing something wrong in the bedroom. Finally, she decided that she had to talk to Bill—to find out what she needed to "fix."

So—on one of their appointed nights together—about a month before her relationship with Bill ended—Sookie finally summoned the courage to ask him if they could talk about something important. She had cooked him his favorite meal and had just poured him a second glass of wine when she broached the topic of their sexual relationship.

She certainly hadn't expected the response Bill gave her. He shocked her by getting down on one knee and producing what he called a "promise" ring. They'd been together eight months by then, and he explained that he would ask her to marry him "properly" when the time was "right." Meanwhile, he said that he wanted her to wear the small gold band he'd gotten for her so that she understood the depth of his affections as well as his intentions for their future together.

After he'd slipped the ring onto her finger, Sookie had forgotten her initial purpose for the evening. Almost formally, Bill had asked her if they could alter the routine that they'd been following so that he could stay with her an additional night each week. Given their "pre-engagement," he suggested that they add Friday nights to their Monday/Wednesday schedule; he even indicated that he could stay with her into Saturday afternoon on the weeks when he didn't have projects due, instead of leaving early in the morning as was his usual practice after spending the night. Sookie had agreed happily.

She had hoped that their spending an extra night together and having a morning "to sleep in," as Bill put it, might lead to less hurried sex. She had also hoped that being "promised" to each other would make her feel a closer connection with him.

Her hopes had been naïve.

In fact, sex between her and Bill _did_ change after he'd given her the promise ring. First, it became less frequent, and—ironically—she saw him less often because he would often cancel their weekday nights together, citing the "extra weekend time they'd added" as an excuse.

Less than a month after Bill had "pre-proposed" to her, Sookie received her visit from Lorena, who proceeded to let her know that Bill was so "bored" when he had sex with Sookie that he'd needed to seek out someone more "satisfying." Lorena was graphic as she gleefully reported the ways she and Bill had found mutual "satisfaction" together. And Lorena's cruel laughter had certainly reinforced all of Sookie's fears regarding her own lack of sexual skill. That laughter had followed her to New York.

Luckily, one of the first books she copy edited when she got to NP was a textbook about sexual relationships. From it, Sookie began to understand that it might actually have been Bill who was a bad lover—and a selfish and manipulative one at that. After editing that book, she checked out others from the public library and did a lot of internet research about unhealthy sexual relationships.

It had taken Sookie months of research before she acknowledged that Bill had been using sex as a tool of control with her. He'd pursued her with false intentions, and then he'd wanted her to fit the mold of a genteel Southern lady.

Claudine had helped Sookie even more, and though Sookie had talked about her relationship with Bill in only general terms until recently, her therapist had guided her in overcoming much of the trepidation and shame she'd developed about sex. Once getting the whole story, Claudine had posited that Bill was likely incapable of having a healthy, balanced sexual relationship. She figured that Bill had used both Lorena and Sookie for opposite reasons-that he suffered from what psychologists called the Madonna-whore complex. Sookie had been Bill's "Madonna," someone he felt he could mold into the "perfect woman." On the other hand, Lorena had been Bill's "whore," someone he could use to fulfill his "darker" sexual urges. In truth, neither of Bill's conceptions of the women in his life had been real; both were projections of his own desires, likely fueled by something in his past.

Whatever Bill's malfunction, Sookie was working very hard to make sure that her screwed up relationship with Bill didn't frame her current interest in intimacy with a certain tall blonde.

In fact, thanks to her reading and Claudine's guidance, Sookie understood that she'd done nothing wrong when it came to sex with Bill. Moreover, Sookie had come to think of herself as still a virgin in a lot of ways—not in a physical sense, but in an emotional one. She looked forward to a time when sex wasn't stilted by a schedule. She looked forward to a time when a lover thought more of her than himself. Yes—she had started to accept the fact that she deserved much more than she'd gotten from Bill.

However, despite her progress, Sookie couldn't help but to be nervous about the idea of sex with Eric. He was so experienced, and she just _wasn't_. Still—next to her nervousness was _not_ fear. It was exhilaration and anticipation. Sookie intuited that making love to Eric would be better than anything she'd ever imagined, especially given the reaction of her body when they'd kissed. In fact, she felt her stomach tying itself into knots as she remembered how their tongues had entwined so seamlessly. She warmed at the memory of his hands—so passionate and tender—on her face. She wondered what those hands would feel like in other places on her body.

Sookie shook her head to take herself out of the thoughts that threatened to take her over. She knew that tonight was not the night to have sex with Eric—no matter how much the prospect thrilled and tempted her.

She took a steadying breath and put Eric's talented hands and mouth out of her mind—at least for the moment. Instead, she tried to figure out why the thought of his leaving her house earlier had made her feel like she'd be losing a part of herself if he did.

Despite her immediate connection with him, she hardly knew Eric, and what she did know wasn't necessarily flattering to him. Many called him a womanizer, and most everyone at the office thought he was involved with Isabel Edgington. But Sookie had believed Eric when he told her about his friendship with Isabel and his "non-relationships" with the others.

More disconcerting to Sookie was the fact that he'd had her followed, even if—as he'd claimed—it had been only to make sure she was safe. Moreover, he'd basically admitted to stalking her for several hours each Sunday!

In addition to those red flags, Eric Northman was so far out of her league when it came to money and looks and social position that it wasn't even funny.

Still, Sookie felt something with him that she'd never felt before. She just couldn't name what that something was yet. She wasn't even sure that it had a name, but she wanted to continue feeling it.

Was it love?

She shivered and grabbed one of the books off of her nightstand. She didn't want to think about whether or not she loved Eric Northman; she couldn't—not yet. Quickly, she opened her book to the place where she'd left off, even as she concentrated on taking deep breaths. Eric had the ability either to make her breathe easier or to take her breath away. She couldn't help but to guess that it would be the latter when he walked back into the room.

She wasn't wrong.

He was in only his dark gray boxer-briefs when he reentered her room, and they didn't leave much of his lithe body to the imagination. With great effort, however, she kept her eyes on his eyes.

"Do you close your door when you sleep?" he asked.

She nodded, "Would you lock it too?" She knew that Amelia wouldn't be there that night, and—even if she was—she wouldn't come into Sookie's room without knocking, but Sookie always locked her door at night just the same.

Eric nodded and then turned around to face the door. When he did, Sookie couldn't prevent her eyes from traveling to his perfect bottom. In his suit, he looked good from behind. In his jeans, he looked amazing. And in next to nothing at all, he was sin itself—better than any masterpiece she'd ever seen.

* * *

Almost tentatively, Eric closed and locked Sookie's bedroom door. He'd spent a total of fifteen minutes in the bathroom, much of that time willing his erection away. However, it had threatened to return with full force as soon as he saw Sookie waiting for him in her bed.

He concentrated with all of his might on keeping his dick at bay—at least until he could hide it safely under the blankets. Feeling the heat of her gaze as she checked him out was certainly not helping in that cause, so he moved to "his" side of the double bed without looking at her too closely. He also tried to keep his cock turned away from her so that she couldn't see it springing to life in his underwear.

At home, Eric had a California king-sized bed, so fitting himself into Sookie's standard-sized bed was going to be a challenge, especially since he was sharing it and didn't know how close Sookie would want him. He carefully situated his 6'4" frame on "his" side of the bed and then turned to look at his bedmate, immediately glad that he'd waited to do so until his cock was under cover.

She looked gorgeous. In the soft light of her lamp, he could see even more freckles spattered across her cheeks than he had before. He wanted to reach out and trace each one on her face and then go seeking out any others that were hidden on her body. But—with difficulty—he refrained.

"Do you have a book for me?" he asked, his voice rumbling a little as he gestured toward the opened book on her lap.

She nodded and reached over to her nightstand to get him something to read.

"_The Vikings_ by Else Roesdahl," he said, reading the cover of the book. He chuckled. "Light reading?"

She giggled, and any awkwardness in the room melted with the sound. "I like reading a lot of things, but one of my favorite subjects is history. You're lucky," she said, gesturing to the book.

His eyebrow waggled. "Just _how_ am I lucky, Miss Stackhouse?" he asked half-playfully and half-suggestively.

She blushed. "Last week, I had something on the Aztecs, but this is better since you're probably—you know," she paused and smiled at him, "descended from Vikings. You sure look like it."

He laughed heartily, though Sookie caught some pain hiding at the edges of his eyes. She didn't ask about it.

"Probably," Eric replied, his smile fading. "My father hates it, but I favor my mother's side of the family, and—as I told you—they are from Sweden."

"But Northman seems like a Viking name. Is your father's family from Scandinavia too?" she asked.

Eric shrugged. "The first of my forebears in this country was named Erik Northman too, but it was spelled with a 'K.' That's the more traditional Scandinavian way, but that Erik was born in northern England. Of course, that doesn't mean he wasn't descended from Vikings. Still—my father doesn't like it that I," he paused, "look so much like my mother."

"Oh," Sookie sounded, not knowing what to say.

"And what about you?" he asked, changing the subject. "What are you reading?"

She grinned. "_A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_. I'd never read it before, and it seemed appropriate."

"Indeed," he grinned back. "Your résumé indicated that you were an English major. Did you specialize in something? You would have had to when you got your master's degree—right?"

She nodded. "I liked the British Early Modern period best."

"That's the Renaissance—right?" he asked.

"Yes," she confirmed.

"Shakespeare?"

"Yes. But I love the other playwrights too. And the poets."

"Ah," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Beauty no other thing is, than a beam / Flash'd out between the middle and extreme."

"Markus Herrick," she said with a little surprise.

Eric chuckled, "I have a confession to make."

"What?"

"I'm not sure what that poem even means. In the boarding school I went to, we had to memorize a certain number of poems, and I never quite understood that one—maybe because it's too short or too straightforward."

"Well—they don't come much shorter than that one," she smiled.

"So—Miss Renaissance Scholar, what does it mean?"

"Hmmm," she said, crinkling her nose playfully. "I've got no idea," she lied.

He chuckled and settled against his side of the headboard, his book on his lap. He opened the volume to the introduction and began to read.

About five minutes later, he felt her head make contact with his shoulder, and he raised his arm and lowered himself into the bed a little so that she could more easily settle against his side.

"Is this—uh—okay?" she asked tentatively. Sookie seemed not to have realized that they had been touching until he moved, though she had initiated the contact. Eric felt her hesitation to lean fully into him.

"Yes. Very okay," he reassured before pressing a kiss to her forehead and gently pulling her closer until her head was resting almost directly over his heart. They both sighed at the contact and closeness.

"Thanks," she said softly.

His answer was just as soft, but came in the form of another kiss to her forehead.

Within moments, they'd resumed their reading and had relaxed into each other as if they'd been together ten years and not ten hours. After about thirty minutes, Sookie yawned.

"Are you ready to sleep?" Eric asked her.

"Yes. You?"

"Yes. I should set my phone alarm," Eric said, reaching for his cell phone. He put "his" book onto "his" nightstand before changing the settings on his alarm. When that was done, he turned off the lamp on "his" side.

Meanwhile, Sookie placed her book onto her nightstand. As soon as she flipped the switch turning off the lamp on her side, Eric noticed that several nightlights became illuminated in the power sockets around the room.

"Oh—I can take all those out," Sookie said, clearly a little embarrassed.

"They don't bother me," Eric assured. "I like seeing you; plus, I'm used to the lights of the city in my bedroom."

She smiled softly and turned to lie on her side so that her pose mirrored his.

His sharp eyes, quickly becoming accustomed to the dim light, studied her lovely face—just as her eyes studied his.

"May I give you a goodnight kiss now?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said a little breathlessly.

He leaned in, and she leaned in, and their lips met softly in the middle. The kiss was chaste and lingering, an exchange of breath as much as an exchange of touch.

"Good night, Sookie Stackhouse," he whispered as he leaned back to where he'd been before.

"Good night, Eric Northman."

Under the covers, their hands had already locked together.

* * *

Sookie woke up naturally at about 4:45 a.m., just as she always did.

However—immediately—she recognized that two things were different than usual. First, she'd slept through the entire night without waking. Generally, she woke up several times.

Second, she was much warmer than usual, and that was because a man was holding her against his body. Sookie couldn't prevent her smile. "Spooning!" she thought to herself. She was spooning! And to say that it was like heaven would have been an understatement.

She felt warm, but not just in temperature. She felt comfortable and cherished; actually, she felt "cozy," an adjective she'd never thought to use for herself before. She smiled a little wider.

Eric's long, lissome body was behind her, and she was curved into him. Their bodies fit together just as their hands and lips had—like puzzle pieces finally able to lock together with their mates to form a beautiful image. His arm was slung over her waist, his palm resting on her stomach. His face was buried in her hair, and he was snoring faintly.

She lay there and enjoyed the sensation of him all around her. He engulfed her with not only his body but also with his scent and the stir of his breath tickling her neck.

She sighed, realizing in that moment just how difficult it was going to be to tell him goodbye—no matter when she had to do it.

She closed her eyes tightly and placed her hand softly over his. Could she accept what Eric was offering: three years and eight months? She knew that he was promising her much more than he'd ever promised anyone else and more than he'd ever hoped for himself. Her initial response had been to ask _why_ he would offer that to someone like her. But she pushed that question to the side. That "Why?" was for Eric to answer.

"I can practically hear your mind working," Eric whispered from behind her.

She was surprised that his voice didn't startle her. "You're awake," she said.

"Just," he answered groggily. "Is this okay?"

She felt the pressure of his hand on her stomach increase just a little. "Yes," she responded, pressing her own hand more firmly against his.

"Will you tell me what you were thinking?" he asked.

"You first?"

"I was wondering when we got like this."

She giggled. "I have no idea."

He inhaled deeply as if memorizing the moment with all of his senses. "I was also thinking about how I've never woken up with someone in my arms like this."

"Do you like it?" she asked tentatively.

"I do—very much—but it scares me."

"Claudine says that fear is natural—good even—as long as it's of a certain type."

"She's your therapist—right?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, not questioning how he knew that. "I started seeing her last December."

He turned his hand so that it interlocked with hers. "I'm glad."

"Why?"

"Because," he started and then stopped for a moment. "Because I don't know everything about your life yet, but what I do know tells me that you've been hurt. And I," he paused, "don't want you to hurt."

"Claudine's nice," Sookie said after a moment of silence, "and she smiles more than I thought any human being could."

He chuckled. "Will you tell her about me?"

"She knows about you already. But yes. I'll tell her about yesterday—and today."

"What is the good kind of fear?" Eric asked as he placed a chaste kiss on her neck.

She gasped a little. "The kind that makes you run from someone who wants to hurt you. Or—the kind that makes you have butterflies. The kind that makes you anxious—but not paralyzed—when things are new and you don't want to mess them up."

"And the bad kind?"

"The kind that prevents you from trying something—doing something you _want_ to do—because you're afraid. The kind that makes you," she paused, "shut out the world."

They were silent for a few minutes. Somehow both of them knew that they'd each been guilty of this last kind of fear—though for good reason.

"I have to get up in five minutes," he whispered sadly.

"Five minutes," she repeated, even more quietly.

"I have meetings until after 7:00 tonight," Eric said nervously. "Can I come back here after I'm done with them?"

She nodded and let herself sink further into him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

**A/N: I hope that you liked this chapter. The information about Bill and Sookie's relationship is still getting filled in, and not everything has been revealed yet, but the other pieces of that puzzle will be coming. Like most people in this piece (except for maybe Michelle), Bill is not wholly good or bad. However, sorry Bill fans, but his presentation in this story isn't going to be flattering. I'm taking his portrayal in the books (and the show to a certain extent), and I'm tilting it a little. **

**Thanks so much for all the birthday wishes after the last chapter! I appreciated those and all the comments/reviews. Remember that I send previews to those that post—unless you tell me not to or that chapter is imminent. **

**As always, your support is greatly appreciated!**

**Cheers,**

**California Kat **


	23. Chapter 23: Just the Basic Facts, Part 1

**Chapter 23: Just the Basic Facts, Part 1  
**

_Tuesday, June 12, 2012_

Claudine Crane had listened without comment as Sookie had told her about the time she'd spent with Eric Northman since Sunday. The story she was telling was incredible in many ways—the stuff of fairy tales.

It was the story of a gorgeous, rich man who was the first to really "see" an insecure, introverted girl who had the potential to shine brighter than any sun.

It was the story of a prince—albeit one of New York high society—who _seemed_ arrogant and cold on the outside. However, on the inside, he was sensitive and warm.

It was the story of a kindhearted, though "odd," girl undergoing a transformation from a "commoner" to a "princess"—at least symbolically.

It was the story of two hurting, young heroes who had been treated cruelly by their "evil" parents for all of their lives.

It was the tale of two people who—against all odds—had found a "magical" connection—maybe even what the stories would call "true love."

Yes. The story of Eric and Sookie contained many fairy tale motifs.

However, Claudine understood the pitfalls of fairy tales. Some didn't end well for the protagonists at all. Hell—even when there was a happy ending, there was much pain to be suffered along the way. And Eric Northman was _not_ promising Sookie a "happily ever after"; on the contrary, he'd already made clear that such an ending would not be possible.

Thus, their tale would—inevitably—end in tears.

The therapist sighed as she looked at her client, who was busy writing down a list of pros and cons related to being with Eric Northman "in the present." In all honesty—since the case was unlike anything that Claudine had ever dealt with before—she wasn't sure how to advise Sookie. Therefore, Claudine was using the time as Sookie completed her list-writing exercise to gather her own thoughts.

Though Claudine—as a Brigant—and Eric—as a Northman—were both considered part of the social elite in New York, she didn't know him well at all. She was roughly the same age as Pam Northman and Nora Gainesborough, so she had met them many times—at functions designed for young, rich people. She was friendly with Pam, though she could take or leave Nora. However, Eric had always been away at boarding school as they were growing up. Of course, in recent years, he had become a part of Manhattan's social scene, but after college, Claudine had opted to back away from that lifestyle and now attended only a few Brigant-sponsored events each year. She had seen Eric at some of these functions, but she'd certainly not gotten to know him personally.

Therefore, most of what she knew about him had come from one of three sources, each of them skewed in its own way. The first was her cousin Bobby Burnham. The second was Sookie. And the third was the society pages of newspapers and local gossip programs.

Despite being a triplet, Claudine had always felt more kinship with her cousin Bobby than she had with her own siblings. Claudette and Claude were the ones who shared the "special bond" often present in those who had shared a womb. Of course, that fact was fascinating in and of itself, for Claude and Claudette were as unlike as two people could be. Claudette had taken after their parents and their grandfather Niall. She was savvy and successful in business and in science. With determination that Claudine greatly admired, Claudette was driving the family pharmaceutical company into the future at full throttle. But—then again—Claudette had always been an overachiever, and she thrived on difficult challenges.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Claude was an exotic dancer/interior designer/hair stylist/painter/whatever his mood dictated at the time. The moniker "free spirit" was the perfect way to describe him. In fact, the only profession Claude had kept for more than a month had been his dancing. And Claudine had to admit he was good at it. According to Claude, both male and female customers put exorbitant amounts of money into his G-string.

Claude had used part of his inheritance to buy a strip club, and he'd turned it into something classy—under Claudette's guidance, of course. As the owner, Claude didn't really have to dance, but he gave command performances when he felt like it, which was usually about once a week. However, at times, he would simply "check out," refusing to take care of the club when something else struck his fancy. In fact, the year before, he'd gone to Asia for six months without telling anyone he was going—except for Claudette, who got a call _after_ he'd landed in Nepal. He'd apparently met a man the week before who was going on some kind of pilgrimage. Claude had returned a little thinner and with several tattoos on his body; he'd also become a Buddhist.

Claudine stifled a chuckle as she thought about how only her brother would think that Buddhism and stripping were complements.

Luckily, Claudette had stepped in—as always—to make sure Claude's business kept running smoothly in his absence.

Claudine was "the triplet in the middle"—as her grandfather Niall liked to say. And he'd given her that label for many more reasons than just the fact that she'd been born second. Although Claudine had not chosen to go into the family business, she'd always been driven in her own way—though she wasn't nearly as ambitious as Claudette. Claudine had become a successful therapist and was content with her life. Those things were enough for her, though she did hope to have a family of her own one day.

Bobby was similar to her in a lot of ways. He too was independent and stayed out of the social scene. Claudine had enjoyed getting to know him after he moved to New York to go to NYU. Before then, she'd seen him only sporadically at her grandfather Niall's estate. Now they met for drinks or a dinner once a week or so.

Claudine had first heard Eric Northman's name from Bobby's lips. She'd, of course, known of all the other Northmans; the members of prominent families in Manhattan tended to keep up with each other, and Claudine's mother was a big part of the social scene. But Claudine had not known that there was a Northman child older than Pam and Nora until Bobby told her about him seven years before, which was just a little before Eric moved to Manhattan and began working at NP.

Claudine had been surprised when Bobby told her that Eric had been his closest friend for years and that they'd known each other since Bobby was ten and Eric was six. After Eric moved to Manhattan, Claudine suggested that he join Bobby and her for drinks sometime so that she could meet him properly. However, according to Bobby, Eric was shy—a bit of a recluse even.

That assessment certainly did _not_ gel with what Claudine had read in the society pages or with what she'd observed at the social gatherings where she'd seen him. He'd seemed like a playboy to her, and he had a different starlet or socialite on his arm at almost every event until recently—when he'd been photographed almost exclusively with Isabel Edgington. Whatever woman he was with, however, Eric Northman looked anything but shy and reclusive.

Claudine's third perspective of Eric had come from Sookie. Her opinion wasn't skewed in a normal sense, probably because the young woman herself was not "normal." However, Claudine couldn't quite reconcile Sookie's view of Eric with what she had observed of him herself.

When Sookie had first come to Claudine, she'd been suffering greatly due to the after-effects of many years of physical and mental abuse by her mother and—to a lesser extent—her brother. She'd also been traumatized by an ex-boyfriend, Bill Compton, who had demolished what little trust Sookie had left. Because of them, she'd built thick walls—shields—around herself. And—understandably—she'd tried to shut the world out.

Two months into her therapy, Sookie had told Claudine that until she was sixteen, she'd lived with physical pain, as well as mental torment, because of her hearing ailment. And even though Sookie's grandmother—Gran—had offered her "sanctuary" and had even helped the girl get medical treatment for her inner ear disease, that situation, too, had been problematic. Sookie's mother sending her away to live with someone else had been experienced as another rejection by Sookie—just another sign of her "freakishness," which had been a word Sookie would often use to describe herself during their earlier sessions.

To make matters more complicated, even Gran—the most positive influence Sookie had ever had—was not innocent. Like Sookie's father, Adele Stackhouse and her husband had not been around enough to see the signs of the abuse that was occurring in Sookie's childhood home. Sookie had justified that Gran wasn't there because she had lived in New Orleans and because there had been a falling out between her parents and grandparents, but in Claudine's mind, that excuse was flimsy. Corbett Stackhouse was even more culpable. He had recognized that something was wrong with Sookie, but he'd listened to Michelle's take on what that was, instead of questioning his wife and really opening his eyes to see what was happening to his own daughter.

Of course, Claudine did not criticize Corbett or Gran to Sookie. The young woman would initiate that criticism herself one day if she continued to progress in her recovery.

Claudine had quickly learned that Sookie's way of trying to heal herself was idiosyncratic. But it was also methodical and effective, and Claudine was often more of a facilitator than a therapist to Sookie. Sookie's mind was quick and creative, probably from years of processing so many visual signals all at once as she tried to "cover" and "make up for" her deafness. And—of course—through all of that, Sookie had needed to compartmentalize both her physical and mental torment.

Sookie had learned to survive through study—as much as anything else. She was well-read and would throw herself into a topic that intrigued her. In fact, Sookie was familiar with even more research than Claudine was when it came to unhealthy sexual relationships. Sookie had—in effect—diagnosed Bill Compton's dysfunction even before telling Claudine just how cold their relationship had been. Claudine had merely confirmed Sookie's deductive reasoning about Compton's Madonna-Whore complex. However, even beyond her reading, Sookie's main therapy was not the sessions she shared with Claudine every Tuesday. No—it was her trips to the MET. Sookie had the ability to connect herself with the art, and—through that experience—she was blossoming and opening herself up to the world more and more.

Her transformation was—in Claudine's professional opinion—a beautiful thing to behold. She'd seen other clients become "stuck" in their pasts, but Sookie had an innate sense of stubbornness that wouldn't allow for that.

Hell—if Claudine was being honest, she now saw her role in Sookie's life as more of a friend than therapist. However, Claudine was determined to continue to support Sookie in both of those capacities, and the experienced psychologist knew that Sookie needed the aid of their sessions to talk more freely than she'd be able to with a "friend." Therefore, Claudine was more than willing to keep the sessions going as long as Sookie needed.

The brunette sighed. After Sookie had "escaped" from Bon Temps, Bill Compton had entered her life as a very different kind of "prince" figure than Eric Northman. Though Sookie hadn't realized what he was doing at the time, Bill had relegated her to the damsel in distress figure, a powerless role he seemed all too happy to make permanent. To Claudine, Bill's obvious desire to stunt Sookie's developing confidence had been his worst sin—though that had not been all he'd done to her.

Still—Sookie had survived both Michelle Stackhouse's cruelty and Bill Compton's duplicity.

Even from her and Sookie's first official session, Claudine had been amazed by Sookie's ability to function as well as she did, given the trauma she'd faced. And the young woman was continuing to make new strides almost every week! She was learning how to operate in different kinds of friendships with Amelia, Holly, Luna, and Claudine herself.

Before coming to New York, Sookie had had very little experience with friendship. Though Sookie had used the word "friend" to describe Tara Thornton, Claudine would not call what she had with Tara a "friendship." As far as Claudine could tell, Tara was a rather weak individual, who had used Sookie and who had put conditions on their friendship in order to hide it from others. Though Claudine felt bad about Tara's own childhood predicament, which Sookie had explained in order to justify her "friend's actions, Claudine's sympathy lay with her own patient/friend.

Moreover, Sookie had undoubtedly experienced Tara's "friendship" as another kind of rejection. Hell—Tara had even participated in bullying Sookie at times! Moreover, when Sookie had stepped in to try to save Tara from facing abuse from a boyfriend, her reward had been more rejection. Even now, however, Sookie rationalized Tara's actions bullishly. Claudine couldn't help but to admire Sookie's loyalty, even if it was misplaced.

Therefore, Claudine had to consider the possibility that Sookie's loyalty was being misplaced in Eric Northman too.

Unquestionably, Lafayette Reynolds had been a better friend to Sookie than Tara had been, but his presence in her life had always been too sporadic to count him as a truly close friend to the young woman. He too was "different" from the "norm," and—apparently—Sookie had felt empathy from him. But other than a few exchanged emails a year, Sookie maintained no contact with him. However, Claudine had encouraged Sookie to call Lafayette several times during the last few months, and he was becoming a more consistent presence in her life.

Sookie had also made strides in forming casual relationships. She was able to carry on friendly exchanges of small talk with the guards at the MET and with people like Sam Merlotte. Clearly—the thought of having various kinds of conversations with people was becoming less troubling to her, and that was an encouraging sign to the therapist.

Claudine looked up to see that Sookie was still composing her list; the young woman's eyes were closed and she was lost in thought. Claudine glanced up at the clock and saw that their official session still had fifteen minutes.

The therapist had to admit that when Sookie had first told her about Eric Northman, she'd been wary of the man's potential effect on her—and the harm that someone like him could cause. However, there had been no real interaction between Eric and Sookie when her patient had first mentioned him, so her "crush" had seemed harmless enough. It was, after all, the kind of thing any "normal" straight woman might feel for an attractive man.

According to Sookie, she'd first seen Eric at the 2011 NP January party. He'd been "scanning," which had turned out to be the word Sookie used to describe _how_ he studied the room. Sookie's instincts had told her that Eric was "scanning" in order to make sure he was safe. She'd talked about Eric's eyes and what she'd seen in them. However, Sookie had turned away before he was able to see her—well, except for her hair, apparently.

Sookie had left the party soon after that—in order to avoid the newest incarnation of bullies that the world had thrown at her. However, seeing Eric Northman at that party had lit something inside of Sookie; it had done something to the walls that she'd built up. Apparently, whatever she saw in his eyes had made Sookie think that he could see right through those walls. That was why she'd turned away from him them. But it was also why she couldn't stop thinking of him, despite the fact that she didn't exchange any contact with him for the next year.

Claudine sighed. No matter what Bobby had said about Eric, she had been skeptical when Sookie had told her that she felt like she could make a connection with the man who had just been chosen as "New York's most eligible bachelor"—for the fifth year in a row. Claudine feared that Sookie was setting herself up for certain rejection. Victims of abuse often did, after all. They sometimes unwittingly played into their abusers' hands by perpetuating their own pain even after the direct abuse had ended.

The cold, hard truth was that Eric Northman had _not_ seemed like a good candidate for a relationship partner with Sookie—at least not on the surface.

However, after her first two visits with Sookie, Claudine had recognized that her patient had the ability to "see" others clearly and accurately even if she'd had very little interaction with them. So Claudine had not discouraged Sookie from making contact with Eric at the NP party in January 2012, even if it was just making eye contact with him. The therapist had made sure that Sookie didn't get her hopes up too high. In truth, Claudine wasn't expecting much to happen; however, if Sookie was right about having a connection with Eric, then the therapist had hoped that the two might become friends. At the time, Sookie had certainly needed a friend. There was no way that Claudine could have predicted what really did happen between Eric and Sookie when they met.

After their first two encounters in January, Claudine had felt conflicted about how to best advise her patient.

Undeniably, Sookie and Eric's first encounter had included a moment when the man had manhandled her. And generally, the psychologist counseled her patients—especially her female patients—to expect only an escalation when it came to physical abuse from their partners; however, the case with Eric Northman had seemed different.

From what Sookie had conveyed—and she was not one to hold back ugly truths—Eric had grasped her shoulders and even shaken her a little when she'd not responded to his questions about how she'd known of de Castro's spies. But his touch had barely bruised her; Claudine hadn't even been able to see the finger marks when Sookie came to her office three days later. And she had looked for them—_very_ carefully, ready to call the police if Eric's assault demonstrated true violence. However, there had been nothing marring Sookie's skin.

More importantly, Sookie hadn't been scared of Eric—not at all. Her eyes had held neither denial nor fear. And Claudine knew that women almost invariably knew instinctively when they were in danger from their partners—even if they weren't ready to admit to that danger.

No. Sookie's trepidation in the elevator hadn't related to Eric. It had come from the memories he'd inadvertently triggered in Sookie—memories of her mother shaking her violently. According to Sookie, those vicious encounters had always left her badly bruised—so much so that she couldn't wear short-sleeved shirts for weeks after her mother's particularly "angry days." Michelle was also a fan of slapping her child, most often right over her ears—which had been a constant source of pain for Sookie anyway.

No. Claudine hadn't been concerned that Eric Northman would hurt Sookie physically. But she had been and was still worried that the girl would be hurt by him emotionally. It had taken Eric only a few words and two kisses to enrapture Sookie in January. And now, they were sleeping together—though, in their two nights sharing a bed, they'd not yet had sex.

Sookie had told Claudine about the expiration date that would come if she and Eric had a "relationship." And the therapist was worried that Sookie would be destroyed when Eric and she parted ways in three years and eight months—which was the timeframe Sookie had indicated was available for them. Frankly, Claudine was concerned that they wouldn't even make it that long.

What if Eric got bored with Sookie—as his reputation suggested he would? Or what if he succumbed to his family's pressure to marry someone they deemed appropriate _before_ his deadline? If he did, he would steal away even the short amount of time he'd offered her.

Being from the "so-called" upper crust of society herself, Claudine understood well the pressures that would be brought to bear upon the eldest of the Northman children if he tried to defy Appius Northman, whom Claudine knew was a ruthless son of a bitch—for lack of a better description. Claudine laughed a little to herself because of the joke she'd inadvertently made. Indeed, Appius's mother Grace _was_ a bitch—by all accounts—so calling Appius a "son of a bitch" was especially appropriate.

But that was another thing that concerned Claudine. Knowing what she knew about the upper echelon of New York society, she understood well that Sookie wasn't the "kind" of girl that would be welcomed into the Northman family folds. She wouldn't even be accepted as someone with whom Eric could have a dating relationship. In the eyes of the Northmans, Sookie _might_ be seen as good enough for Eric to have a one-night stand with, but anything beyond that would be deemed as unacceptable.

Despite that fact, the therapist couldn't help but to wonder _why_ Eric felt so trapped in his situation. Sookie had indicated to Claudine that he had some kind of contract with his father, and that contract included a clause that Eric marry someone that met with Appius's approval by the time he turned 35. Sookie didn't know all the details about the contract, however, and Claudine wondered why Eric didn't just quit NP and take control of his life. Surely, a man like him could find other work and another place to live. Then again, Claudine wondered what Appius might be holding over Eric's head. Men like Appius Northman covered their bases, so if he wanted Eric controlled, then he would certainly have a way to control him.

Thus, there was seemingly no way around the expiration date for Sookie and Eric. They had an end before a start.

Claudine sighed deeply. No. Their situation was definitely _not_ a fairy tale with a happy ending; it was more like a Shakespearean tragedy—though hopefully without the deaths.

Still—Claudine couldn't deny certain truths about her patient. For her whole life, Sookie Stackhouse had been merely existing. She had experienced very little joy or happiness, and—even with all the strides she'd been making—everything was an effort for her, from the simplest conversation to the slowing down of her work so that she could better fit in at the office.

But Sookie's description of her time with Eric seemed very different. Clearly, it required very little effort on her part to relax with him. And—perhaps—that was the greatest tragedy of all. Both Eric and Sookie seemed to feel a profound connection with each other that had created trust and ease between them.

But no matter how perfect they were together, they would not be able to stay that way.

Yes. It was a goddamned tragedy.

* * *

**A/N: **

**FYI-the chapter title came from the lyrics of "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd (Songwriters: Roger Waters & David Jon Gilmour)**

**I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and getting Claudine's perspective. Sometimes, in a story this long, it's important to "review," and this chapter—hopefully—helped that to happen without seeming redundant. **

**Once again, thanks to all that reviewed/commented. I appreciate all the support more than I can say! **

**I have—as of 7:30 a.m. this morning—finished the first draft of **_**Touch the Flame**_**, which is the sequel to **_**Comfortably Numb**_**! As you know, it takes me a while to revise and edit, but the fact that both pieces are "done" in draft form is both a wonderful and a melancholy experience for me. (I'll admit to a little crying when I got done—and not just because of the subject matter either.) As I've said before, **_**CN**_** is far from finished (I'd estimate that it's a little more than half way there now, and then **_**TTF**_** will be about as long as **_**CN**_**. So hold on! It's going to be a bumpy ride. But when I finished, I was satisfied, and that's always a good sign. If you've read **_**Back & Forth**_** and **_**Come Back to Me**_**, you know that I will drag my beloved Eric and Sookie through the muck, but I will generally set them to rights again when I'm done (and make sure they've showered along the way.) ;)**

**I'll start work on editing the next chapter right away, but it needs some tweaks, so it might be Wednesday before it's done.**

**Remember to check out my wordpress site if you want to see the cast (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com). **

**Best,**

**(a very excited) Kat**


	24. Chapter 24: Just the Basic Facts, Part 2

**Chapter 24: Just the Basic Facts, Part 2**

Ostensibly working on some other patients' files, Claudine studied Sookie as inconspicuously as possible while the blonde continued to write her list of the pros and cons related to a relationship with Eric Northman.

The therapist smiled to herself. Undeniably, the woman before Claudine seemed happier than she'd ever been before—at least in Claudine's experience with her. And she seemed so sure of herself compared to the previous December—or even the previous week. It was—frankly—a joy for Claudine to see, especially considering what Sookie had been like when they'd first met—little more than a shell.

Claudine—unfortunately—had many patients who had suffered from abuse, both physical and mental. But she'd rarely encountered a story of a mother inflicting the level of emotional abuse onto her child as Michelle Stackhouse had done to Sookie.

Truly, Michelle Stackhouse was a monster, and though Michelle's mother, Sookie's grandmother Bonnie, shaped that monster, Claudine had seen many brave people—including Sookie herself—strive to overcome their pasts rather than to let themselves continue a cycle of abuse. However, Michelle didn't just continue the cycle; she embraced it.

By some miracle, Sookie had managed to "shield" a part of herself from Michelle Stackhouse. The girl had closed herself up—walled herself in—so that she could survive. Claudine had seen such defense mechanisms before—children insulating the essential parts of themselves in order to live through abuse. Of course, in hiding herself, Sookie had failed to develop in many ways, but she'd been working on that, and Claudine was extremely proud of the young woman's progress.

Claudine sighed. The hardest thing for Sookie to do had been to fight against her mother's voice in her head. Sookie had told Claudine that even when she'd been deaf, she'd _heard_ that voice—even when Michelle's lips hadn't been moving. It was the sound of that harsh, cold voice—not the chirping of birds or the whisper of a breeze or the melody of beautiful music—that Sookie had remembered most throughout her deafness.

Unrelentingly, Michelle Stackhouse's voice had tried to convince Sookie that she was damaged and defective. That voice had attempted to persuade Sookie that she deserved her abuse. However, the incredible thing about Sookie was that she'd never fully believed Michelle's voice, and she had developed her "shields" to limit the efficacy of her mother's words—both the ones that she saw on Michelle's lips and the ones that she heard in her head.

However, her shields had also had a negative consequence: they had left Sookie numb for years.

When Sookie really opened up about her deafness, Claudine's heart had broken for her. At first, Claudine had assumed that Sookie had lived in total silence, but that had not been the nature of Sookie's condition at all. When she was four years old, Sookie's hearing problems began with pressure and buzzing in her ears, and over the next few years, those things slowly encroached upon any meaningful sound. Instead, the brutish noise got louder and louder in Sookie's head until there was nothing left but it. Claudine couldn't imagine it. Instead of living in silence, which may have carried with it a certain level of peace, Sookie had learned to cope with perpetual clamor.

Sookie had also learned to endure continuous pain. Her inner ear disease had brought swelling to Sookie's eardrums, which had caused her to have terrible headaches. And, of course, she'd never complained about them because she'd feared her mother's wrath. With no other choice, Sookie had been forced to build a tolerance to the pain.

In truth, Claudine was amazed that Sookie hadn't become as "crazy" as Michelle had labeled her to be. On the contrary, she had somehow managed to be a good student—despite pretending otherwise in order to avoid more of her mother's ire. Sookie had taken refuge in books, and concentrating on their words and ideas had helped to preserve her.

But—of course—during her childhood, there was really no "life" to Sookie. No "life" _for_ her. She didn't remember laughing when she was a child, she didn't remember smiling, and she didn't remember playing. She hadn't known _how_ to do those things.

Part of her still didn't.

Claudine had noticed—on the occasions when she'd been in social settings with Sookie—that her friend still had trouble doing those things that others found so simple. Her smiles didn't come easily, and when they did come, she often unconsciously covered them with her hand. Even when she'd gone out with the group to celebrate Amelia's birthday, Sookie would look almost apologetic when she laughed, though it had been clear that she was _trying_ to have a good time. Claudine sighed sadly; even now, Sookie didn't know how to "play."

But that was no surprise. Sookie had had no time and very little opportunity for "play" as she'd grown up.

Claudine wrote down a few notes in her friend's file. With the never-ending buzzing in her ears as her childhood soundtrack, Sookie had learned to do two things to survive: she'd read books and she'd read people's faces.

She'd been afraid to do anything else—let alone give herself the freedom of "playing."

Living with her grandmother, Sookie's life had changed for the better—exponentially. She had finally been taken to see a doctor who could help her, and after two surgeries to repair Sookie's problem and the damage that it had caused, the girl could hear again. But—according to Sookie—the best part was that she could experience quiet.

Sookie had adapted to hearing again as well as someone in her situation could have been expected to, and in college, she'd found an existence that was _comfortable_ to her. Not surprisingly, people found her odd, but—no longer forced to deny her intellect—she'd proven herself to be an excellent student, even though she hadn't yet been ready to be "social." Eventually, she'd even started a relationship—with Bill Compton.

From what Claudine had gathered, there had been a lot of dysfunction in Sookie's interactions with Bill from the start. However, there was no "overt" abuse, and—frankly—Sookie didn't have the experience to notice the passive kinds of mistreatment that Bill was guilty of. She'd been ignorant of his manipulation of her until she'd been told of his betrayal—by the worst source possible: Bill's mistress.

But after learning the truth, Sookie had proven her resilience once more. Despite having been decimated emotionally, she had chosen to strike out anew for a second time—to bravely come to a city known for its noise. She had found a good job. And—though it had taken her a while—she had found a few friends, though she was still learning how to be open and to enjoy herself with them.

However, it seemed that with Eric, Sookie didn't have to struggle to smile or to laugh or to play.

Claudine looked down at her notes. Perhaps, she ought not to be so hesitant in seeing Eric as a good partner for Sookie—even if he could only be a short-term one. Perhaps her own opinion of Eric was skewed too much by what she'd read about him in the newspapers. After all, gossip rags were not known as paragons of the truth. Perhaps her own eyes had been fooled by a persona that Eric adopted only in public.

And, perhaps, Eric was the _only_ one with whom Sookie could be truly "free." But Claudine didn't know whether to be happy or sad about that thought.

Sookie had attempted to give another romance a chance a few months before when she'd gone out on two dates with Preston Pardloe. The best thing about Sookie's two interactions with Preston—at least in Claudine's opinion—was that she had opted not to go out with him a third time. Though it would have been easy for Sookie to fall into a relationship with the first man who'd asked her out in a very long time, she'd been discerning about him. There had been something about Preston that Sookie didn't trust; however, instead of "settling," she'd listened to her gut and had ended things, despite Preston's continued interest.

After Sookie's second date with Preston, Claudine and she had spent a whole therapy session talking about her dates with him. Claudine had been concerned that Sookie's continued interest in Eric might have prevented her from giving another man a chance. And—undeniably—Preston had seemed like a perfectly nice person when he'd first approached Sookie.

It turned out that Sookie _had_ broken things off with Preston at least partly because of Eric—just not in the way Claudine had feared.

As she began to try to get to know Preston, Sookie sensed that he was presenting her with a façade, rather than his "true" self. Oh—Preston had _seemed_ polite and kind. He had a good job and was intelligent. And he made no secret about the fact that he was interested in continuing to date her. But—in Sookie's words—there had been something "off about him."

As was still her habit, Sookie used her ability to read lips even while listening to Preston speak. According to Sookie, there were many truths that couldn't be "heard."

Claudine had been fascinated when Sookie had told her just how much information she could pick up from a twitch of the lips or a slight sneer or a flashed smile. Of course, in Claudine's studies, she had read books about microexpressions; after all, in her line of work, she needed every tool she could get when it came to testing the veracity of what her patients told her.

However, no matter how much Claudine had studied facial tics, Sookie was the true expert in using microexpressions to learn about people. She'd confessed that sometimes Bill's lips hadn't matched his words but that she'd ignored the twinges of mistrust she'd had about him. However—to her credit—Sookie had refused to do the same with Preston. So when his facial muscles twitched contempt when Sookie mentioned what she did for a living or when his lips rose into a sneer when he said that he was happy to take things slowly between them, she "listened" to something other than what she "heard."

Where Eric's influence had come into play was that Sookie had forced herself to pull her eyes from Preston's lips and to look into his eyes when he wasn't speaking. She'd never been able to do that with Bill—or anyone else for that matter. However, looking into Eric's eyes had come naturally to her during their encounters. And looking at him like that had given her the courage to look into the eyes of others.

An expert at noticing things that others didn't, Sookie soon saw flashes from Preston's orbs that confirmed her hesitancy about him: a slight leer when he looked at their waitress, an amused glint when a couple next to them was having a talk that made the woman cry, a hint of smugness and then guilt when he saw a man that he knew from work.

All in all, those miniscule moments had been enough to make Sookie lose her interest in Preston Pardloe, and Claudine couldn't blame her. If Sookie didn't trust Preston, then any future dates would have been pointless.

She did, however, trust Eric Northman. And it had been both his eyes and his lips that had compelled her to forge that trust so quickly. Sookie had explained to Claudine that in Eric's case, the flickers in his eyes and the pulses of his lips all matched his spoken words. In short, while she'd seen signs of deception in both Bill and Preston—deception that she'd learned not to ignore—she'd sensed nothing but truth from Eric.

But could Sookie's infatuation with Eric be dulling her usually unerring "reads" of people? Claudine couldn't be sure, but she highly doubted it.

And that meant that Eric's intentions toward Sookie _were_ honorable—even if they were temporary. And—even if their relationship was fleeting—the therapist knew that it could be a blessing for both of them.

Claudine thought back to a young man she'd had as a client a few years before. He was very interested in establishing a relationship with a woman he'd met. However, the woman had cancer, and though she was getting treated, her prognosis wasn't promising. The young man was in agony over his choice. Should he pursue a relationship that had the potential to make him very happy? Or should he do the "safe" thing and protect his heart from loss?

Sorrow would follow one choice and regret the other.

In the end, he'd pursued the relationship, had seven wonderful months with the woman, and had been utterly desolated by her death. He was still one of Claudine's clients, and he continued to mourn the loss of the woman he'd loved. But he didn't regret his choice, and he was learning to move forward. During one of their sessions, the man had read her Tennyson's poem called "In Memoriam." The last two lines of that poem had become cliché—so familiar and recited that they'd lost their impact—but the man had clung to those lines and the rest of the poem for comfort all the same:

_I envy not in any moods_

_ The captive void of noble rage,_

_ The linnet born within the cage,_

_That never knew the summer woods:  
_

,,,

_I envy not the beast that takes_

_ His license in the field of time,_

_ Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,_

_To whom a conscience never wakes;_

_,,,_

_Nor, what may count itself as blest,_

_ The heart that never plighted troth_

_ But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;_

_Nor any want-begotten rest._

_,,,_

_I hold it true, whate'er befall;_

_ I feel it, when I sorrow most;_

_ 'Tis better to have loved and lost_

_Than never to have loved at all._

Claudine was not blind to the fact that Sookie's plight was both similar to and different from her other client's struggle. It was similar in that there was a pre-determined limit on the amount of time she'd have with Eric. However, it was different in that illness wouldn't be separating them; death wouldn't come between them. No—it was a contract between Eric and Appius Northman that would break them up. And—in some ways—the fact that it was a piece of paper and not an act of God that would rip them apart made things worse.

However, Claudine couldn't help but to believe the sentiments of Tennyson's poem: loss _was_ preferable to regret.

Moreover, Claudine was beginning to think that the real loss would come if Sookie didn't pursue a relationship with Eric.

Undeniably, Eric Northman had already been good for Sookie. Claudine looked at the lilies on her desk; she'd received them from Charlie, her current boyfriend. She sighed as she studied the different stages of the flowers. Some were still unopened green buds, just waiting for their petals to release the beauty within. Others were mature blooms set free to showcase their inner beauty. Whether he'd intended to or not, Eric had helped Sookie to bud, and it would be a shame if that bud never truly blossomed.

Certainly, the bud was lovely too. And—invariably—once the blossom came, the life of the flower waned before the petals finally dropped away. But there was nothing more sad than the thought of a flower that never opened—that stayed forever frozen in that moment before it could show its true loveliness. And it wasn't as if the unopened bud wouldn't die too. It held onto its unfinished life longer than the bloom, but it still eventually fell to the ground all the same.

Claudine sighed. When Eric had approached Sookie for the first time in the museum, something he'd done had made her feel something she'd never felt before: special, wanted, and—most importantly—connected.

That connection hadn't dimmed after their first encounter in the museum. It had grown. And after their second meeting—just one day later—it had gained momentum. Despite evidence that indicated Sookie was in league with people bent on doing harm to his family's company, Eric _hadn't_ revealed that Sookie was the source of the information about de Castro.

On the contrary, he had—_seemingly_—forgotten all about her.

In truth, however, he'd not forgotten at all. According to Sookie, Eric had been a subtle shadow in her life since their January encounters. Claudine's instinct was to warn any woman to be wary of stalker-like behavior, but—again—the situation was unlike any other the therapist had come across.

First of all, the surveillance on Sookie had been motivated by her telling Eric about de Castro's spies. And it made sense that a man in Eric's position would need to figure out if Sookie was involved in corporate spying. Clearly, his instincts had been to trust in Sookie. However, he'd kept watching her or having her watched even after he'd been certain of her innocence.

The previous night, Sookie had asked Eric to tell her everything about the surveillance, and he had seemingly been upfront about what he'd done and why he'd done it. He'd had Bobby—whom Sookie was surprised to learn was Claudine's cousin—follow her for the three weeks after the NP party.

Claudine had been both disturbed and comforted that it was Bobby who'd done it. She was disturbed that he did that kind of thing at all. Oh—she knew that her cousin had some "interesting" associates and did some "interesting" things for a living, but she didn't like to think of him lurking in shadows or being involved in potentially dangerous situations. However, she also knew that Bobby wouldn't participate in a situation that would put an innocent woman at risk—not even for his best friend.

After that initial surveillance, Eric had hired a man named Alcide Herveaux. According to Eric, Alcide had been installed into an apartment across the street from Sookie. From there, he'd watched _over_ her—more than he'd watched her. It seemed that Eric had worried about Sookie being alone so often, so he'd paid Alcide to keep an eye on her from Friday nights to Sunday mornings—when Amelia was rarely at the house.

To tell the truth, Claudine had worried about Sookie too. The therapist knew Amelia very well, and her best friend could be counted on to spend most of her weekends in bed with one of a series of companions. Because of this, Claudine had started texting Sookie once or twice a weekend—mostly just to check in.

It seemed that Eric had had the same idea as she'd had; he'd just taken things a step or two—or ten—further.

Claudine made a few more notes. Once again, she contemplated whether Eric's Sunday "stalking" indicated any danger for Sookie. Claudine sighed as her instincts once more leaned toward believing in Eric.

The therapist intuited that Eric went to the MET looking for the same thing Sookie was—connection and healing. And she couldn't fault him for that. In fact, every new piece of information she got about Eric told her that he was just as wounded inside as Sookie was. Or maybe his situation was even worse. After all, Sookie's wounds had begun to heal now that she was out of the spheres of her mother and Compton. On the other hand, Eric's wounds were likely still being actively inflicted.

From what Sookie had told her, it was clear to Claudine that Sookie had affected Eric as much as he'd affected her. Eric Northman was not one who needed to make a Herculean effort to bed a woman; thus, his patience and efforts toward Sookie seemed sincere. The more she thought about it, the more Claudine was certain that Eric Northman wasn't out to use Sookie—or to hurt her.

Still, Claudine needed to make sure that her patient's eyes were wide open to the pain that _would_ be coming her way if she became more entangled with Eric.

"Okay—I'm finished," Sookie said, looking at her two lists with a little triumph in her eyes.

The therapist smiled. "Excellent. Just put them in your purse and add things as you think of them, or cross things out if they no longer seem important."

"You—uh—don't want the lists?" Sookie asked. "You don't want me to read them?"

Claudine shook her head and looked at the clock. "Nope. Those lists are for you; plus, our time is up—that is—if you are still planning to eat with me tonight," she chuckled.

Sookie nodded. "Yeah. I already told Eric and you and I got dinner after our sessions, and I," she paused, "enjoy that time too much to miss it, though I miss Eric too."

Claudine smiled. "I enjoy our time hanging out too, but I would understand if you'd prefer to cancel dinner and spend time with Eric."

Sookie thought for a moment and then shook her head. "No. This way, I'll get to spend time with both of you."

Claudine looked at Sookie in question.

"I'm going to call him when I'm ready to leave the restaurant, and he'll meet me there with a taxi," Sookie informed.

Claudine nodded in understanding. "So he'll spend the night with you again?" she asked in a nonjudgmental tone.

Sookie smiled. "Yeah. I know it's probably too soon and I know that I probably should have decided _before_ I invited him to spend the night the first time, but I like having him close."

"Every relationship is different," Claudine said thoughtfully. "There's no right or wrong way to them. And if spending the night with Eric is what your instincts tell you is right, then you should follow them."

Sookie nodded.

Claudine rose from her chair and collected her things, giving the flowers on her desk one last look.

**A/N: Big apologies for my getting this chapter to you after I thought I'd be able to. It's been a rough-and-tumble week. Along the same lines, I didn't get to respond to my reviews/comments until this morning. Sorry if I missed anyone. I treasure any words you gift me with, and I don't want you to think I don't appreciate them if I can't respond (or respond right away). I hope you will continue to tell me what you think. **

**Thanks for reading! I promise we'll get back to Eric and Sookie together by the end of the next chapter, so be patient. ;) **

**Have a wonderful weekend!**

**Kat**


	25. Chapter 25: Q & A

**Chapter 25: Q & A**

Sookie and Claudine were just finishing up their dinner, during which they'd enjoyed their casual chat, just as much as their grilled salmon.

A few months before, the two women had begun sharing a meal after each Tuesday session. The bistro they were now sitting in had quickly become their favorite place to go. It was never overly crowded on weeknights, the prices were reasonable, and the food was a nice mixture of hearty and healthy.

Claudine took the last drink of the wine she'd ordered with her dinner. She understood well that a therapist was generally better off if he or she didn't develop a friendship with a patient. The psychiatrist with whom Claudine had interned always told her that she should "punt" her patients to another therapist if she ever "got attached." Claudine believed in the soundness of his advice, but she couldn't help herself with Sookie, and—frankly—she didn't want to either. There was just something about the blonde in front of her that tugged at Claudine's heart. It wasn't that she pitied her either. It was more like a connection that one might feel toward a family member, and Claudine was happy that their friendship was growing more and more with each passing week.

Claudine's phone chirped and she looked down at the message she'd been left by Charlie, whom she'd been dating for about three months. She smiled as she read the text.

"Good news?" Sookie asked before taking the last drink of her own wine.

"Yes—Charlie got us tickets for the symphony for our three-month anniversary," Claudine smiled.

"You like him," Sookie smiled back.

"Yes," Claudine confirmed. Whereas Claudette had married and divorced three times and Claude was always proclaiming that he would never settle down with anyone, Claudine was still looking for the _right_ person to share her life with. Her relationship with Charlie had grown more serious during the last several weeks, and, though she wasn't sure he was Mr. Right, Claudine was hopeful that he might be.

"This one might even be a keeper," Claudine said with a wink.

"Well, from what you've told me, he sounds like a nice guy," Sookie observed.

"He is," Claudine smiled a little wider.

The waitress came around to ask the women if they wanted dessert. They both ordered a piece of cheesecake and a coffee as Sookie texted Eric to let him know to pick her up at the bistro in half an hour.

Once the dessert was delivered, Claudine asked her friend the question that had been nagging in the back of her mind since they'd left her office.

"Sookie," she gently nudged, "you were right earlier tonight when you said that you shouldn't question _why_ Eric is interested in you. You were right to accept that his reasons are his own. And you are _definitely_ right to trust that you are worthy of his affection. But—you also have to consider what happened to you before. Is there _any_ possibility at all that Eric could be trying to use you for your ability—as Bill was?"

* * *

Sookie took a deep breath and considered Claudine's question. After all, it was a valid query and something she'd asked herself many times during the last several days.

Could Eric be wooing her in order to use her lip-reading ability? After all, it had already been of use to him once; it had helped him to know that de Castro had put spies into NP.

Even if he'd not known about her ability in January, he certainly knew now. And the truth was that he'd not approached her again until _after_ he'd known.

Did he want to use her? Was he like Bill—even in the slightest?

Sookie sighed. Eric certainly didn't need her for sex—not by any stretch of the imagination. He had women who would line up for him—actresses and models, socialites and debutants, executives and CEOs. Hell—he probably had a fan club of nuns who cut out his pictures from Page Six!

And it wasn't like he needed her for a relationship either. Sookie figured that there were scores of women—women from the "proper class" no less—that would kill for someone like Eric.

Her mother's voice had crept into her head many times during the last several days—mostly when she'd not been with Eric. She could hear that voice stirring within her again: _"Why would Eric Northman—or ANY man for that matter—want someone abnormal like you? You are NOTHING! That means that he must want you ONLY for what he can get from you. And then he will toss you away like the trash you are. And if you think he really cares about you, then you are as stupid as you are defective!"_

Sookie took a few deep, steadying breaths as Claudine had taught her to do when she needed to banish her mother's voice from her thoughts. Claudine had trained Sookie to think of an acronym—R.E.D.—when the "ghost" of her mother tried to torment her. The first step was for Sookie to "Recognize" that she had control over her mother's voice. The second step was for her to "Eradicate" that voice like the vermin it was. The third step was to "re-Define" herself as the one who was in charge of her thoughts. Sookie took several more breaths. She closed her eyes and imagined her mother's words as a rat trying to invade her, a sewer rat that could be expunged by a simple extermination. That image brought a little smile to her face.

When she opened her eyes again, Claudine was looking at her knowingly.

"Did you kill the vermin?" the therapist asked with a little smirk on her face. Sookie had told her weeks ago what image she thought of when she utilized the R.E.D. technique.

"Just call me the Orkin man," Sookie smirked back.

Claudine smiled at her patient. "Good."

Sookie nodded and returned to Claudine's question, this time with only her own thoughts rattling around in her head. Rationally, she knew that she had to consider whether Eric was trying to manipulate her. So—once more—she asked herself the difficult question: Had he approached her again because he wanted to use her lip-reading ability?

Because Michelle Stackhouse had viewed Sookie's lip-reading only as a sign of her so-called "defect," Sookie had never considered what a valuable skill it could be until she'd gotten an abrupt education—from a woman named Lorena Krasiki.

In many government agencies, a lip-reader was a highly sought-after commodity because—after all—secrets were highly sought-after commodities. Spies trained for a long time to accurately read lips. Heck—Lorena had told Sookie of a lip-reader who had infiltrated an organized crime syndicate in Philadelphia and who had eventually provided the authorities with the information they needed to bring the syndicate down. Other lip-readers had been involved in thwarting terrorist plots.

However, even the most talented lip-readers had their limitations, and that's what made Sookie so distinctive—so "singular." Her own ability was so deep-rooted in her that she was almost 100% accurate.

Of course, Lorena hadn't given Sookie this information so that she could see value in her skill. No—she had done it out of malice.

It had turned out that Bill was a "talent scout" for the FBI, and Lorena had _greatly_ enjoyed telling Sookie that she was "just an assignment to Bill"—that he saw her only as a means to increasing his own value within the Bureau.

According to Lorena, Sookie's situation was "unique," which was why someone of "Bill's talents" had been sent in. Sookie had been reading lips since she was very young, and though a deaf person might be suspected of having the skill, Sookie was now a "fully functioning hearing person." At least that was the clinical way Bill had described her in the file that Lorena had shown her—a file which had contained over 150 pages of Bill's various "assessments" of her. Many of the words he'd written had frozen themselves into her brain.

The file had included Bill's appraisal of Sookie's potential to work for the agency he'd been sent by. He'd determined that she "showed great potential," though her "lack of social intelligence made substantial training and oversight necessary." He warned against "using a direct approach in securing her skills" because she was "too simple and meek to handle such a request as a normal person would."

He'd suggested that Sookie's introduction to the FBI be "subtle" so that she wouldn't become "skittish." And his idea to "procure Miss Stackhouse's talent by initiating a relationship with her" had been approved by his supervisor, someone named Nan Flanagan.

In his reports, Bill had also indicated that Sookie was the most skilled lip-reader he'd ever come across. He'd written about how he'd personally witnessed her "reading" people when there was only faint light. In fact, his first report, which had outlined the first time they'd met, talked about how she'd "read" the police after her attack even though they were thirty feet away and stood under dim street lights. He'd been even more "impressed" that she'd been able to "read" them under great distress.

Other reports he'd written delineated various tests he'd used to ascertain whether she could read him if he mumbled or barely moved his lips while speaking. During their first and only real date, he had set up other assessments—one to see if she could accurately report on things she'd "read" from the waitress who had mumbled out the restaurant's specials in French. Bill had been "pleased to testify" that even though Sookie didn't know French, she'd been able to tell him—with "proficiency"— the names of the various dishes the waitress had intentionally slurred.

He'd also set up scenarios to see if she could cover up her distress if she "read unpleasant things." One such experiment had been conducted when he'd accompanied her to Bon Temps. He'd paid some people in town to ridicule her because of her past deafness; of course, he'd put her into a position where she could "overhear" them.

Sookie remembered the words of those people very well. They'd been in her grade at school, and the things that they'd said had hurt her—had made her feel like she was a social pariah once more. Bill's report had indicated his "satisfaction" that her face could "remain perfectly neutral" even when she heard "hostile things."

He'd conducted another experiment while they had been in the middle of sex. Wanting to see if Sookie could concentrate "while occupied with another activity," he'd moved his lips to ask her to make him an apple pie the next night that he was over. He'd been "pleased to report" that an apple pie had been waiting for him at their "next appointment" even though he'd "never voiced" his request out loud.

Apparently, the only "reservation" that Bill had had about her involved her "various personality defects." However, in his report dated the week before Sookie had seen the file, Bill had indicated that if he "generated enough dependence in Sookie"—so that she "looked only to him for guidance"—then he was certain that she could be used by the agency as long as he functioned as her "handler."

Lorena had taken extra "care" to let Sookie know that being the handler of such a "fine asset" would "make Bill's career."

Sookie cringed at the memory of what she'd seen in that file; Bill's duplicity had almost crippled her psychologically, and that's why she _had_ to carefully consider Claudine's question.

Did Eric want her to spy on his business adversaries—just as she'd inadvertently done with de Castro and Madden? Was he going to try to get her to fall in love with him—just as Bill had done—in order to manipulate her?

Yes. The questions were hard. But—in the end—the answers were easy.

"Eric's not like Bill," Sookie said after at least five minutes of silence had passed between her and Claudine. "With Eric, things feel different than they did with Bill. I don't know everything about Eric, but I do _know_ that what he's said to me is the truth. And there's something," she paused, "_good_ between us. I trust it—trust him."

Claudine sighed and nodded. "I don't think he's manipulating you either, Sookie, but I need you to promise to keep using your ability. Keep looking for microexpressions that he cannot hide. Keep using your lip-reading skill and don't ignore _anything_ that seems off—as you did with Bill. Can you promise me that?"

Sookie nodded. "I have already promised myself the same thing, though I think Eric's eyes would give him away before anything else." She paused for a moment. "His eyes tell me everything I need to know about him. Claudine, I think that Eric," she paused again, "feels something strong for me."

Claudine reached out and took her friend's slightly shaking hand. "And I can tell that you already feel something strong for him too, Sookie."

Sookie spoke a bit wistfully. "It's strange. With Eric, I feel safe—like I can just be who I am. I feel like I can talk to him—like I can tell him things that I can't even tell you yet. And there's more to it. I feel like I _want_ to tell him those things."

Claudine leaned forward a little. "That's good, Sookie," the therapist said truthfully. She understood just how rare it was—especially for a survivor of abuse—to find someone that he or she didn't want to "hide from."

Sookie smiled. "The best part is that Eric seems to feel the same things about me that I do for him. It's like he's counting on me—like he's trusting in me too. I never felt anything even remotely close to that from Bill. And now that I can look back objectively, I recognize that Bill hardly told me anything about himself—at least beyond the surface things. Sure—his job made him hide a lot, but he could have told me some true things that wouldn't have compromised his work."

"Yes. He could have," Claudine agreed.

Sookie inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Eric has opened up to me as much as I have to him so far. And—although I can't be one hundred percent sure—I don't believe he would have done that if he only wanted to use me for my skill." She paused. "I'm certain enough to _want_ to bet my heart on him—on us," she finished in a whisper.

Claudine nodded. "Yes. It's clear to me that you _want_ to be with Eric and that you trust him. But you also have to consider what he can give you—and what he _can't_. If the time he's offering you is not enough, then you _have_ to let him go—and the sooner, the better—for both of your sakes."

Sookie said nothing but nodded in understanding.

Claudine leaned back and took a sip of her coffee before continuing, "Sookie if you begin a relationship with Eric, you can't let the time factor hang over your head—or his. You can't keep your eye constantly on the hourglass. If you do that, I fear that you'll both be miserable."

"I know," Sookie responded softly.

"You would have to live in the moment," Claudine said kindly. "And you'd have to try to help him to do the same. Could you do that?"

Sookie bit her lip a little. "I don't know."

Claudine sighed. "So that is what you will have to strive to find out then—_before_ you can give Eric your answer."

Sookie nodded.

To give Sookie a moment to consider what she'd said, the therapist called the waitress over to refill their coffees. After she left, Claudine smiled at her friend warmly. "Sookie, I know that we are officially done with our session for today, but will you let me go back into doctor mode for a little while?"

Sookie chuckled. "Are you ever out of doctor mode?"

Claudine smiled a little wider. "I guess not—at least not fully, but I want to do a little exercise with you—if you'll let me. It'll only take a few minutes, and we can go back to the office if you want."

Sookie looked around. The restaurant was almost empty, and no one was paying any attention to Claudine and her. "Here is fine," she said.

Claudine smiled and reached out to pat Sookie's hand. "Okay. Let me repeat some of the things that you told me at the beginning of our session today," Claudine said. "And as I repeat each one, I want you to consider what your feelings are and _why_ you have those feelings. I'll pause one minute after each question, and then I want you to try to put your feelings into words, but limit those words to a sentence or two—got it?"

"Okay," Sookie said tentatively, stirring some milk into her drink.

"Okay," Claudine smiled encouragingly. "Let's begin. Eric told you that he had been watching you at the museum. How did you feel when he told you about that?"

After a minute, Claudine gestured toward Sookie to speak.

"I didn't like it," Sookie answered honestly. "I don't like being watched when I don't know it."

Claudine nodded. "That feeling is understandable based on what you have told me about your past and about the times your mother made you face the corner of your room. But I want you to know that_ I_ wouldn't like being spied on either. Your reaction is quite normal." She paused. "Now, I want you to think about this question: _Why_ did Eric watch you like that? And how does _that_ make you feel?"

Again Sookie considered her response for a minute. "I think he watched because he was interested in me and wanted to get to know me, but he didn't know how. And I feel good and bad about that."

"How so?" Claudine asked. "And you can answer that right away."

"Well," Sookie smiled, "I admit that I like the idea of being the object of his interest, even though I wish he'd gone about it in a different way."

"Okay—that's the good. What about the bad?"

"I feel bad for him. On the outside, he seems to have everything. But on the inside," she paused.

"On the inside?" Claudine prompted.

"He's just as fucked up as I am," Sookie smiled ruefully.

Claudine chuckled at Sookie's choice of words, especially since Sookie didn't normally curse. However, the therapist quickly became serious again. "Sookie—you know that you _cannot_ be the one who saves Eric—right?"

"I know," Sookie replied with a sigh, "just as I know that he can't fix me either. But if I can make him feel even a little better—just like he does for me—then maybe he'll feel safe enough to save himself. Maybe he'll find the strength in himself—just like he helps me to see the strength in myself."

Claudine smiled approvingly and patted Sookie's hand again. She often had clients who wanted "to fix" another or "to be fixed by" another. But that never worked—at least not for long—and it often led to codependence and the loss of self.

"Okay, Sookie. Just one more question that I want you to answer."

Sookie nodded.

"Eric has offered you honesty. He's offered you fidelity during your time together. But he isn't in the position to offer you a future in the traditional sense. Can you accept that?"

Again, Sookie took her minute in silence as she contemplated her answer.

"I don't know," Sookie responded after the time had elapsed.

Claudine nodded. "Alright. In that case, I have a task for you to do."

"A task?"

"Yes," the therapist said. "I want you to think about four different scenarios. I want you to ponder each one very carefully. And when you are done, I think you will know how to answer the question I just asked."

"Okay."

"Good. In each of these scenarios, I want you to imagine that it is four years from now, which would mean that Eric will be married—to someone else."

A tear immediately rose to Sookie's eye, but she brushed it away and nodded.

Claudine took her friend's hand. "I know this will be hard."

Sookie nodded again. "But I'll do it."

Claudine smiled at her friend. "I know you will." She took a deep breath. "First, I want you to imagine the best thing that could happen if you chose to pursue a relationship with Eric—in other words, the best case scenario. Second, I want you to imagine the worst thing that could happen if you chose Eric—the worst case scenario. Third, I want you to imagine the best thing that could happen if you _didn't_ choose him. And—finally—I want you to imagine the worst thing that could happen if you didn't choose him."

"Okay," Sookie said, determination and trepidation mixing in her eyes.

"You'll find your answers, Sookie," Claudine said confidently. "And when you do, I know that they will be the right ones."

Sookie closed her eyes for a moment. "I know that too."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Claudine was waiting with Sookie outside the bistro; she saw her friend's face light up as soon as a taxi pulled over to the curb. Eric Northman got out of that vehicle. He was wearing a navy T-shirt and jeans, and his hair was unstyled as if he'd recently showered. He looked nothing like he did in Page Six photographs or at parties.

A soft, happy smile lifted his lips and crinkled at the corners of his eyes as he leaned down to kiss Sookie's forehead. Claudine couldn't help but to notice the way Sookie sighed and leaned into that kiss. She also couldn't help but to see the way his left hand had already taken her right.

"Eric, this is Claudine Crane," Sookie said smiling up at him. "She wanted to meet you."

Eric's ease changed momentarily to uncertainty before his face became more neutral again. He held out his right hand for Claudine to take, offering her a smile that was a little less enthusiastic than the one he'd given Sookie, but still genuine. "It's nice to meet you. Sookie has spoken of you quite a bit," he said.

Claudine nodded, but refrained from telling him that Sookie had also spoken about him. "It's nice to meet you," the therapist said sincerely. "My cousin Bobby speaks highly of you."

Eric nodded in acknowledgement.

Claudine leaned in and gave Sookie a one-arm hug since she didn't seem like she'd be giving up Eric's hand anytime soon. "Well—Charlie's waiting for me, so I'd better get going."

"Can we drop you somewhere?" Eric asked, gesturing toward the taxi.

"Do you mind?" Claudine asked, happy for the opportunity for observe the couple for a few more minutes. "I'm just in Gramercy."

"No problem," Eric said, leading them both to the taxi.

Since Claudine would be the first to be dropped off, Eric got in first. Once Sookie was settled into the middle of the seat, their hands seemed to fly back together. Claudine smiled a little as she got in after Sookie and relayed her address to the driver.

Claudine's house was a little more than ten minutes away, and along the way, the conversation was light between the three. Claudine and Eric both shared short anecdotes about Bobby's propensity for choosing crappy places to live, and Sookie giggled throughout Claudine's story about Bobby once living in a loft that had a hole in the wall. Eric added that Bobby had made that hole bigger so that he could more easily "visit" his next door neighbor, who happened to be a beautiful aspiring actress.

By the time Claudine was dropped off at her home, she knew one thing for certain: Eric Northman and Sookie Stackhouse were very much in love. And—for once—the pragmatic therapist prayed against logic and reality; she prayed for Eric and Sookie's tale to find its way to a happy ending. She prayed for just a little bit of magic.

* * *

**A/N: Hello all! Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. I am happy that I was able to get this one out sooner than I'd thought I would (especially considering I was tardy with the last)! **

**So—what do you think about the reveal that Bill is a recruiter for the FBI? I hope it's not too far-fetched for you. (Although if you've ever watched **_**Alias**_**, then you know that it could have been much more far-fetched.) I'm trying to create an "all-human" world that has some cross-over to the **_**SVM**_** universe, so I hope you will give me the benefit of the doubt when it comes to things like this. However, consider this if you are skeptical: Would the government hire people to do underhanded and manipulative things to get its hands on an asset? **

**Anyway, as always, I appreciate your reading! **

**Have a wonderful rest of the weekend!**

**Kat**


	26. Chapter 26: Where to Pray

**A/N: **Hello—sorry about my unexpected hiatus from this story. I got a bee in my bonnet to write a "correction" for Season 6 of _TB_. Many of you were kind enough to follow me to it. It's called _Funeral_ (and it's now complete) if you want to check it out. Meanwhile, I'm back to _Comfortably Numb_, and I couldn't be happier to delve back in. I have to say that this Eric and Sookie are very close to my heart.

So—some reminders since it's been a while.

Eric—after watching Sookie from afar for several months—has finally approached her, offering her 5% (4.8% actually) of his life. He's made clear that he's being forced to marry someone who meets with standards set by his father on or before his 35th birthday. He believes that he is being selfish in pursuing Sookie at all, but he can't help himself.

Sookie—after Eric approached Sookie for the first time, her world has be upended. But it's also changing for the better. She's becoming more confident and working to overcome years of abuse by her mother, Michelle. In the last chapter, we learned that Bill Compton approached Sookie as an assignment; he works for the FBI as a "talent scout" of sorts. Sookie's lip-reading prowess was the reason for his interest. When Sookie found out about Bill's duplicity, she was hurt badly and moved to New York. But she cannot deny the pull she feels to Eric. She is working to decide whether to be with Eric short-term, knowing that they have an expiration date or to try to protect her heart.

Okay—now to the next chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 26: Where to Pray**

_Sunday, June 17, 2012_

Eric marveled that he could "feel" that Sookie was near, despite the fact that he had his back to her and they were perusing different sections of Gallery 455, which was a large L-shaped room. Feeling the pull of her eyes on him, he glanced over his shoulder; sure enough, she was looking back at him—or, at least, at a part of him. Her eyes immediately moved from his ass to his eyes.

He winked. She blushed. And then they went back to their explorations of the gallery. They'd repeated that little "dance" many times since they'd entered Gallery 455, though—more often than not—she would be the one to catch him watching her.

Despite the room's shape, Eric made sure he could always see Sookie, his body instinctively gravitating toward where it needed to be so that they could share a look every once in a while. His ears trained themselves to the light touches of her sandals against the wooden floors as she moved slowly from one exhibit to the next. The sound comforted Eric—made him feel connected to her.

And—for his part—he made sure to step a little more heavily than he usually did as he moved. Eric wanted to make sure she could hear him when he moved. Somehow, he knew that it would help her to feel at ease.

Sookie had told him that there were some low-pitched sounds that she still had a hard time hearing, though she picked up most tones pretty well. By the time Sookie's grandmother took her to a specialist, it had been too late to repair all the damage her inner ear disease had caused.

Eric sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He couldn't fathom the physical pain and suffering Sookie had endured, though he was acutely aware of the kind of mental torment a parent could cause. Sookie hadn't yet told him everything about Michelle Stackhouse, but Eric already knew that he hated the woman. He had never been violent; he'd never even hit anyone before, but his instincts made him want to strike out at the woman who had caused Sookie so much pain. His fists and he jaw clenched, but he took a slow, deep breath and tried to relax. He knew firsthand that anger over the past would do no one any good.

As he opened his eyes, they were met by an intricately-spun silk carpet hanging on one of the gallery's walls. Eric let the beauty of the piece finish calming him down. He hadn't known much about Islamic art before he entered the gallery that morning, though the room that Sookie and he were in housed what he would call artifacts more than art. Most of the pieces were beautifully constructed, but there was a practicality to them as well, and they provided a glimpse of the color-filled culture they belonged to.

Originating from the 1200s to the 1500s, the pieces in Gallery 455 consisted mostly of finely crafted tiles and painted folios from books. There were also some beautifully made dishes and jars and ewers, as well as a bit of jewelry. By far, the largest piece in the room was something called a Mihrab, which was a prayer niche. Eric moved the few feet he needed to in order to be in front of that piece again. And—again—he was struck by it.

The Mihrab was composed of a mosaic of cut ceramic tiles in various shades of blue, turquoise, brown, and cream. In addition to patterns, the tiles also formed into calligraphy. The large structure curved inward, obviously constructed to make a space for a person who wanted to kneel and pray.

Eric had always been interested in architecture; in fact, when—as an eleven-year-old—he'd been asked by his morfar what work _he_ might like to do when he grew up, being an architect had been his first thought. Of course, his father would have never agreed to Eric's being an architect. In fact, by then, Appius had already outlined not only Eric's academic path, but also his career path. And—even at that young of an age—Eric knew that questioning his father's wishes would have led to punishment. Appius's favorite threat was to tell Eric that he'd no longer be allowed to see his grandparents in Sweden or his siblings at all if he didn't "behave appropriately." And Eric couldn't risk losing those things, so he complied with Appius's decrees to the letter.

However, Appius couldn't stop Eric from being _interested_ in the way things were built. He lifted his hand toward a particularly beautiful tile that captured the darkened shade of Sookie's eyes right after he kissed her. Though he wanted to see if the tile was as smooth as his mind imagined and though he wanted to trace the connections between the tiles so that he could understand the construction of the piece better, he obeyed the sign on the wall and didn't touch the Mihrab.

In truth, his hands had wanted to touch every tile in the room, and he'd loved learning about the various structures that the intricately fashioned textiles had helped to create. Meanwhile, Sookie had spent more of her time in Gallery 455 perusing the pages from various folios.

Eric smiled. It seemed that the gallery had been designed specifically with them in mind, considering Sookie's love of books and his love of the construction of things. He smiled a little wider. For once, he was certain that they would be choosing very different pieces for their favorites, which was ironic, given the fact that it was the first time that they were exploring a gallery together.

Eric glanced at a particularly loud group of people that were passing through the gallery, barely pausing to look at anything. Many people had filtered in and out of the room as he and Sookie had studied each piece closely. Or—in Sookie's case—she had studied every item _except_ for the Mihrab, though it was clearly the showcase piece that had drawn most of the other museum visitors into Gallery 455. By contrast, Sookie had walked past the piece—several times—without giving it much of a look at all.

As Eric looked back at the breathtaking Mihrab, he couldn't help but to wonder why Sookie seemed to be avoiding it. However, he decided not to ask as he glanced over at her; she was beautiful in that moment, and he couldn't bring himself to do anything to spoil her obvious pleasure. She was hovering over a display case full of pages from folios, and her lips were pulled up into a contented smile.

Eric found himself smiling as well. Sookie was obviously enthralled by the various pages from the _Shahnama_, or the _Book of Kings_. He sighed as he took her in before turning back to the colored tiles of the Mihrab. As he studied the patterns, his mind wandered.

He'd had a good week—the best week of his life, actually. Except for the times when he and Sookie had to work and the evening that Sookie had spent with Claudine, he'd spent his time in Brooklyn. And each night, he'd slept soundly in Sookie's bed, holding her close.

And sound sleep—_peaceful_ sleep—was not something he'd been used to.

From Wednesday to Friday, his meetings had kept him at Northman Publishing until 6:00 or 7:00 p.m., and then he would make a quick run to his house in order to grab clothes for the next day since he never presumed that he'd be able to spend more than one night at a time with her.

Every morning, he would ask if he could return that night—just as nervous as he'd been the first time he'd asked. And she would say, "Yes."

He was always surprised—always grateful.

Pam was engrossed in a new paramour, so she was yet to notice that he hadn't been around. Despite the fact that they lived in the same building, they didn't hang out together too often. She was what one would call "social," using her house mostly as a closet. He used his home as a sanctuary.

In truth, Eric was still learning how to have a relationship with his sister; he didn't want to risk becoming burdensome to her. They'd grab dinner or a drink together once or twice a week—if Pam wasn't otherwise occupied, that is. Eric knew that Pam would think nothing of it if she stopped by and he was out. But—just to be safe—he'd asked the guards in his building, who also functioned as doormen, not to mention his comings and goings to Pam. Given the fact that they liked him a heck of a lot more than his often snarky sister, they were happy to help out.

For a week, Sookie and he had been in a bubble of sorts—a simple domestic space that was better than any paradise he'd ever imagined for himself. When he arrived at her home after work, they would have dinner, feasting on recipes that Sookie's grandmother—Gran—had taught her. And—for the first time in his life—Eric now understood the concept of "comfort food."

Some nights after dinner, they had curled up together and watched television or a movie. On other nights—when he had needed to complete some work—Sookie would read or do research for a book that she one day wanted to write about diary writing in Early Modern England. Eric had found out that Sookie's initial plan had been to pursue her doctorate degree in English literature after she finished her master's degree. And—though she was currently not interested in returning to school—she hadn't dropped the project she had intended to focus on for her PhD.

Eric had wanted to ask her why her plans had abruptly changed while she was in the middle of getting her master's degree. After all, he wanted to find out everything about her. But he hadn't asked. He sensed that Sookie was the kind of person who would speak about something when she was ready. And since Eric was the same way, he couldn't begrudge her going at her own pace. He could already tell that she was sharing more of herself than she'd ever done before—just as he was doing.

The day before had been the best day of the week and—without a doubt—the best day of his life. Sookie and he had slept in, waking up at around 5:00 a.m. and then deciding to go back to sleep. He couldn't remember a time when he'd done that, and when they'd awoken again at 9:00 a.m., he'd felt truly and exquisitely rested.

After they'd risen, she'd started some oatmeal as he'd put the coffee on and gotten the newspaper for them. They'd shared their first sit-down breakfast and had exchanged parts of the newspaper in the sunlight of Amelia's back patio area.

After they'd cleaned up the kitchen together, they'd done Sookie's grocery shopping for the week. And after bringing the food back to Sookie's, they'd walked hand-in-hand to the library, where he'd gotten his first public library card. With it, he checked out another book on Vikings since he'd finished the one Sookie had already had. He'd also picked up a couple of classic science fiction novels that he'd heard of, but had never had a chance to read.

They'd gotten back to Sookie's house at about 12:30, and they'd quickly made sandwiches for lunch before curling up in bed to read for a while. Sookie had fallen asleep after about twenty minutes, and the feeling of her even breaths against his body had made him stop reading and just enjoy the sensation of her resting against him.

After she'd woken up, they took turns showering, and then she put him to work chopping vegetables. He cut up potatoes and carrots, while she chopped about ten ingredients for the soup she was making for them. After that, he pulled parsley leaves from the stems. That task had taken him quite a while, but—in the end—he had the half cup she wanted of the fragrant herb. While he'd been doing that task, Sookie had mixed up some batter for cornbread and put it in the oven to bake.

Luckily, Sookie didn't mind his slow speed at completing the jobs she'd given him, and they chatted easily about Gran, Pam, Amelia, Holly, Bobby, and even Isabel. Over the week, he'd learned quite a bit about Sookie's mother, and he'd also told her some things about his father, but they had kept their Saturday conversation light.

As the soup simmered during the late afternoon and early evening, they played Scrabble and Chess, which were the only two games Amelia owned. Neither of them had played either of the games before, so they took their time reading the directions. As expected, Sookie took to Scrabble instantly and dominated Eric in their game. Eric won their Chess match, however.

They had smiled their way through both games. Eric couldn't help but to wonder if they'd ever get to play them again as he helped her put them away, but he didn't let himself dwell on the sad thought that his time with her might be limited to only one week.

After all, it was _his_ fault that the specter of time overshadowed them in the first place.

Instead, he'd let himself live in the moment—to enjoy the perfect day.

As they'd cleaned up the dishes after their dinner, Gran and Pam had called almost simultaneously.

Finding that he wasn't at home, Pam had wanted to meet Eric for drinks—ostensibly to discuss their upcoming trip to Sweden. When Eric said that he had other plans, her real reason for wanting to get together was revealed. The model that she had been dating had gone to Paris for the weekend, so she was bored. Eric promised Pam a lunch on Monday and then hung up before she started begging him to cancel his current plans.

Sookie's phone call had taken longer and was clearly emotional for her, but—despite his impulse to go to her and hold her through whatever was upsetting her—he'd given her space and had gotten a little work done. When Sookie got off the phone with Gran, she told him that her cousin Hadley was back in the hospital.

The Monday before—during Gran's usual weekly call to Sookie—she'd told her granddaughter that Hadley had contacted her and that she'd gone to New Orleans to see her long-missing grandchild.

Sadly, Hadley had AIDS, likely gotten through sharing needles when she was addicted to drugs. Hadley was also almost eight months pregnant with a son that she planned to name Hunter. The week before, Hadley had gone into false labor, and since she was high-risk and her doctors wanted her to deliver by cesarean section to limit the chances that she'd pass the HIV virus to her child, she'd spent a few days in the hospital. While there, she'd finally called Gran to let her know that she was alive and that she would soon have a great-grandchild.

Scared into sobriety when she realized she was pregnant, Hadley had succeeded in breaking her addictions to alcohol and drugs seven months before, only to find out—after her first appointment with her OBGYN—that she had AIDS. Gran had told Sookie that the child's father, Remy Savoy, had also tested positive for HIV, but he hadn't developed AIDS and his viral load was being kept down with a cocktail of drugs that he was taking.

Hadley wasn't as lucky. She had refused to have an abortion and had carried her child as safely as she could, though doing so had prevented her from taking some of the more potent experimental drugs that might have helped to lower her own viral load.

Gran had called the day before from a hospital in New Orleans where Hunter had just been born. Thankfully, a blood test had shown that the infant didn't have the HIV virus; however, the doctors had put him on AZT out of caution. According to Gran, the caesarean delivery had taken a lot out of the already weak Hadley. Sadly, Hadley's doctors weren't sure that the woman would rebound. Gran had also reported that Hadley and Remy were planning to marry and that Remy seemed like a good man. He had been off of drugs and alcohol for as long as Hadley had been, and he now had a good job. Gran had hope that Remy would be a good father and husband.

As Sookie had told Eric about the phone call, he had been able to discern that something else regarding Hadley was bothering Sookie, but—once again—he'd not pushed her to speak of it. And they'd quickly settled back into the comfortable rhythm that had defined the rest of their Saturday.

Instead of staying in for the night, they'd gone out to a movie. It had been the first time either of them had ever been to the cinema for a date. When they'd returned to her home, they'd cuddled in bed and kissed—_a lot_—though Eric had been careful to keep his hands from wandering.

With great difficultly, Eric wasn't pushing things with Sookie on a physical level. He was letting her take the lead, but he also wasn't denying anything she initiated either. He was sure that he'd never kissed a woman as much as he'd kissed Sookie during their week together. However, kissing her—or just holding her, for that matter—had been more satisfying than any sex he'd ever had. Of course, his cock was currently rebelling since the only relief he'd given it had been with his own hand in the shower. Sadly, the releases he had while imagining having sex with Sookie didn't truly satisfy either him or his dick. But at least they took the edge off for a little while.

It wasn't that Eric was complaining. The wonderful intimacy that he'd experienced with Sookie over their week together had been enough to make him more content than he'd ever been.

He sighed as he thought about the end of the previous night. As had become their custom during their week together, they'd fallen asleep with Eric spooning Sookie. It had been the perfect way to end the day.

Yet Sookie had had a nightmare in the early morning hours. He'd awoken immediately as she was thrashing and crying in her sleep. He'd felt the instantaneous urge to protect her, and he'd turned her to face him and had held her close to his chest, his lips whispering assurances into her hair until she finally fell back into a restful sleep.

He'd stayed awake after that, his hands softly stroking her hair and her back—soothing her in her sleep and himself in his wakefulness. She'd had no other nightmares.

Sookie had woken up with a smile on her face, her head lying near his heart. She'd felt perfect there.

She didn't seem to remember her nightmare, which Eric was thankful for. After they'd both showered, they'd left hand-in-hand for the subway station and had enjoyed coffee and a pastry on the MET's steps. Their conversation had been easy, and Eric had felt lighter than he ever had.

However, as soon as they'd gotten to Gallery 455, apprehension had begun to invade Eric in small waves. Today was the day that Sookie had initially told him that she would decide whether she wanted to be with him. And—although he'd insisted that she not give herself a deadline for making her choice—she'd told him that she would _try_ to have her choice by then. Thus, he couldn't help but to wonder if she had made it yet.

He was too afraid to ask her; he didn't want to miss even a minute of time with her if she made the smart choice and cut him loose.

He ran his hand through his hair nervously.

He wished that he could offer Sookie more than three years and eight months of his life. More than anything, he wanted to give her a home and children—the family from the painting two weeks before. But those things were not in his power to give.

All he could offer was his whole heart, and _that_ she already had—not that it was worth much.

No matter how many times he asked the question, "What if," he had to be realistic about the answer. To protect the people he cared about, he _had_ to do as his father required and fulfill the terms of their contract. It wasn't even so much about becoming the CEO of Northman Publishing either, though that was something that Eric had eventually come to want for himself.

No. If it were just that—just a job or the money that came with it—he would have left New York and Appius behind years before. But it wasn't just his own future that he had to consider.

He sighed. Since he'd first laid eyes on Sookie Stackhouse, he'd considered every possible scenario that might break Appius's control over him—but he knew that his father would wield all of his terrible power to punish Eric if he broke the contract. And that punishment would entail crushing anyone and anything that Eric cared about—including the woman who now owned his heart and his soul.

Eric couldn't risk that; his own happiness wasn't worth it. Sookie's happiness _was_, however, and it killed Eric that he couldn't see a way to ensure it. The contract allowed for only one "escape clause," but even that would lead to 104 people being hurt. Eric had counted and recounted them many times since January, spending long, sleepless nights trying to figure out what he could do to protect everyone and still have Sookie.

In his darkest hours, he'd even prayed for his father's death.

But not even that would free Eric; Appius had made sure of that. Eric closed his eyes, once more feeling his "imprisonment" stealing his breath away. He reminded himself that he was lucky to have a little bit of freedom and a little bit of time with Sookie. But he would only be able to enjoy those things if Appius didn't find out about her. The one thing that Appius would _never_ tolerate was Eric's happiness, and Sookie would be the one to suffer for it.

Eric didn't see any options or escape routes. He had to keep Sookie a secret from Appius if he wanted to have even three years and eight months with her. And then he had to fulfill the terms of the contract to the letter so that 104 others wouldn't suffer.

Only two would suffer. And the only suffering he cared about was hers. Once more, his own selfishness tore at his heart. How could he do this to her?

How could he be such a monster?

His only redeemable action had been telling Sookie upfront how much time he could be with her—and that was of little consolation. But—at least—she'd be able to choose with her eyes wide open.

Looking at Sookie, Eric knew that—if she decided to be with him, if they were together for 4.8% of his life as he selfishly wanted them to be—saying goodbye to her would be the most difficult thing that he'd ever do. Of course, saying goodbye to her was going to break him no matter when it happened.

To be honest, Eric had always tried to avoid love—even with his mormor and morfar and Pam—and had begun to wonder if he was capable of really loving someone. But—already—what he felt for Sookie was either love or it was something close to it. He was scared to love her—frightened of the way his love caused pain to others.

At this point, he was frightened of her saying yes and frightened of her saying no.

He looked back at the Mihrab.

If she said no, then this day could very well be their last day together.

If she said yes, then he would have to bear knowing that he would be responsible for her pain when their expiration date arrived.

The prayer niche seemed to call to him. But he didn't know what to pray for. Should he pray to have her? Should he pray for her to run? Or should he thank God that she was even considering being with him?

For the thousandth time, he thought about how it would have been better for her if he'd never approached her. And—again—he cursed his selfishness.

"Hey," she said, her hand slipping into his from behind—pulling him from the vortex of his thoughts.

He turned to face her. "Hey," he said trying to hide the melancholy that had overwhelmed him.

"You okay?" she asked perceptively, her fingers threading through his.

He didn't answer. Instead he kissed her forehead.

"Eric?" she asked, her eyes brimming with concern.

Eric's phone buzzed in his pocket, giving him a reprieve from responding to her question. As he glanced at the number, he sighed with relief and then answered.

"Hello Ben," he said into the receiver and turned to nod toward one of the cameras that he had noticed in the room. Sookie squeezed his hand before releasing it and going back over to the manuscripts she'd been looking at.

"Hey Eric," Ben said. "We just wanted to say thanks for the sandwiches that you had delivered."

"No problem," Eric said as he nodded again toward the camera.

"So?" Ben asked. "How are things going in there? I've had to practically beat Doris and Tony with a stick to keep them from watching you two all day. And now that Milos is in here on his break, it's even worse!"

Eric chuckled. "It's going well." He looked over at Sookie and noticed that she was looking back at him, a little blush glowing on her cheeks. "It's going very well."

"Good," Ben said sincerely. "It's nice to see you two in the same room, Eric," he added softly, probably so the others couldn't hear.

Eric couldn't help but to smile as he looked at Sookie smiling at him, and his dark mood lifted for the moment.

"Ben, Sookie would like to meet you all—the Sunday crew. Can I bring her by before we take off for lunch?"

"I assume you don't want her to know about the betting," Ben observed astutely.

"No, I don't," Eric answered. Whether he and Sookie were together or not, he wanted to ensure that she felt comfortable and safe in the museum that she loved so much. He just hoped that the others would be able to play along without letting it slip that Sookie was a common topic of conversation for them on Sundays. Eric knew that the crew didn't mean her any harm. And it wasn't as if they watched Sookie more than anyone else; if anything, they watched her less because they knew she wasn't going to harm the art. They just kept an eye on her because they "liked" her.

"Sure, bring her whenever you're ready," Ben said. "I'll make sure the others know the score."

"Thanks," Eric said sincerely before hanging up. He winked at Sookie before they both turned back to their explorations of the gallery.

* * *

**A/N: I hope that was worth the wait. I promise that I'm not planning to leave this story to chase another rabbit. I've worked the **_**TB**_** season out of my system, and I'm committed to staying with this story until it's complete and then move right to its sequel. Hopefully, I'll be able to post several chapters a week as I was doing before. **

**I'm glad to be back to this story! Thanks for your patience as my muse forced me elsewhere. I have to say though that a vacation from the angst of this piece was welcome for a little while, but now I'm refreshed and even more excited to pick this story up!**

**Pictures of the Gallery and art of available on my wordpress site: californiakat1564 . wordpress . com**

**XOXOXO,**

**Kat**


	27. Chapter 27: Selfish

**A/N: First, I want to apologize for the delay of this chapter. Many things happened during the last week and a half, but the worst was finding out that a colleague of mine is ill. When she couldn't complete some of her work, I was asked to step, and, of course, I did. **

**Second, in order to get this chapter to you today—instead of likely not getting it to you until Thursday—I edited one fewer times than usual. I hope that you will forgive any typos you see. ****Now—on to the chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 27: Selfish**

_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.—_**Lao Tzu**

_Sookie POV_

The humidity was high in Central Park that day, but Sookie wasn't really bothered by the saturated, warm air. After all, she'd grown up in Louisiana, which tended to be a lot more humid than New York. Gran called it "sticky."

What was bothering her was Eric. Since that morning in the gallery—when she'd seen him looking at the prayer niche as if it were the saddest thing he'd ever seen—the light in his eyes had been dimming, though he was doing his best to hide his melancholy from her.

His apparent anguish had made her own dislike for the large Mihrab grow, giving her another reason to avoid the artifact.

Sookie closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, banishing the memories that the Mihrab had brought forth in her. Instead, she focused on what had happened since Eric and she had left Gallery 455.

Instead of walking to the Turtle Pond for their lunch, Eric had wanted to show her an old cast iron bridge—simply called Bridge No. 24. He'd pointed out where the structure had been damaged by a vehicle. The repairs to the bridge had been completed only the previous month, and Eric had talked animatedly about them, as well as about the original construction of the bridge. But Sookie had intuited that his enthusiasm for the item—though real—was a cover for his gloominess.

Once they'd settled down for a picnic on the Great Lawn, Eric had become quiet—pensive even—as they ate the sandwiches he'd gotten for them. Their food had been delivered with the order for Ben's team, and Ben had lent them one of the many quilted blankets that the museum had; it turned out that blankets were pretty much the best forms of protection when it came to moving and preserving paintings.

Sookie smiled a little when she thought about the fact that Eric still wanted to feed the "Sunday crew." He actually spoke of Ben and the others at the museum almost like family. He certainly seemed to have more affection for them than he did for his own father—though he clearly cared a lot for his siblings.

Sookie had very much enjoyed meeting the crew of workers that monitored the museum's cameras on Sundays. To be honest, she'd never much thought about the fact that she was likely being watched while she was at the museum, but she was proud of herself when she realized she was okay with the fact that there were cameras all over the place. Ben and his crew had all seemed nice, and—in a strange way—she was comforted to know that they were there all the time. She somehow knew that they would watch over her because they seemed to care for Eric as much as he cared for them.

Yes—Sookie _was_ coming to learn that the feeling of being watched _over_ was quite different from the feeling of being watched.

However, as she watched over Eric now, she could see the tension clouding his face. Suddenly, she realized what was making him so edgy.

It was her fault.

He was apprehensive about whether she'd made her decision—her choice about them and their "now." He was anxious about the next 5% of his life.

Sookie had promised herself that she wouldn't make up her mind about what she wanted to do until they were in the park—until _after_ their morning in the MET. Selfishly, she'd wanted to spend a morning with Eric exploring a gallery no matter what, so she'd put her need to make a choice out of her mind for a few hours, simply enjoying the fact that she was doing her favorite activity with her favorite person.

But—looking at Eric's face now—she knew that she couldn't torture him by putting off her decision any longer. No. She would either return to the MET with Eric that afternoon, or she would tell him goodbye. Either way, she'd sworn to herself that she would have no regrets.

She took a moment to think as she weighed her decision. In truth, she'd been thinking a lot about the four scenarios that Claudine had asked her to consider since the previous Tuesday.

Vivid and bright—that was what being with Eric would be like. In her bones, Sookie knew that—with him—she would experience joy like she had never known before and would likely never know again. But being with him would also cost her something. There would be that inevitable moment when they would be pulled apart—by his family and the difference in their societal positions. Eric had been brutally honest with her about that—because the truth itself was brutal. He'd promised to be faithful while they were together, but he hadn't been able to promise her a happily ever after.

Pale, hollow, neutral—those were the adjectives that would describe her life if she didn't seize the "now" with Eric.

Temporary happiness followed by sorrow. Or perceived self-protection followed by regret.

Sookie knew that no matter what, she wouldn't regress to where she had been before she started having sessions with Claudine. No. She'd jumped a hurdle in her life by getting professional help. And she'd jumped another when she realized that she had the right to be content. She was determined to eke out that contentment no matter where Eric fit—or didn't fit—into her life.

But Eric offered her contentment _plus_ a whole hell of a lot more.

Sookie closed her eyes. During their week together, she had recognized something about Eric Northman; he was the _only_ person she'd ever met—perhaps the only person she would _ever_ meet—that she felt she could just be "Sookie" with. There was something about him that soothed and stirred something within her—that made her feel more at peace with herself and in the world than she'd ever felt before. Though she hadn't had the chance to tell Eric everything about her life, it had felt natural—easy even—to open herself up to him. She loved being able to share who she was; she loved the automatic acceptance that came from him. She wanted more of that feeling; she felt greedy for it.

Selfish even.

Sookie knew that her choice came down to facing extremes or living in relative "safety." Giving Eric up now would hurt. And though that hurt would be of a different type than what she'd undergone because of her mother and then Bill, it would likely be a more profound ache. However, she wasn't going to lie to herself; giving him up after having him for more than three years would be exponentially worse.

And the three years and eight months would—almost certainly—move _much_ faster than any other time she'd ever experienced.

Eric took off his sunglasses to clean them. As he gazed out over the Great Lawn, Sookie could see that there was a war raging in his eyes. She saw hope and hopelessness flittering in and out of his blue orbs as if he were a Viking of old, looking onto a battlefield and wondering if he would enjoy victory or suffer defeat.

Life or death.

Now that she could see his eyes, she could tell that hopelessness was winning inside of him; she could see his beautiful blues already resigning themselves, preparing themselves for loss and rejection.

Rejection—both Eric and she had faced its cold hand before.

As far as Sookie could tell, both Eric and she could count on a single hand—with a few fingers left over—the number of people whom they could truly count on. For Eric, it was Pam and his grandmother and Bobby. For Sookie, it was Gran, Amelia, and Claudine.

But even those people would always be kept somewhat at a distance—never to be let in fully. Sookie knew that for a fact, even if she wished things could be different. She also knew that there would be no keeping Eric at arm's length. After all, he was already inside of her.

Eric saw her looking at him and smiled at her as he put on his sunglasses. She could tell that it was a sad smile. And in that moment, Sookie knew that Eric was expecting her _not_ to choose him. For all his charm and the confidence he exuded in a room full of business associates and socialites, the little boy that had not been loved by his father was—even at that very moment—reconciling himself to his fate of being unhappy and alone once more. He was steeling himself for another _expected_ rejection.

He was reminding himself of what he'd always been taught—that _he_ didn't deserve any happiness. That _he_ was somehow defective.

And, seeing that, Sookie knew what she had to do. She knew what she _wanted_ to do.

* * *

_Eric POV_

From the moment Eric had introduced Sookie to Ben and his crew, he'd been reeling.

He'd felt intense pride having her on his arm. But then, almost immediately, he'd felt ashamed—not of her, but of himself. Would he have felt the same pride introducing Sookie to his father? _Yes_—he realized that he would. Sookie was beautiful on both the inside and the outside. And he would _always_ be proud to be with her.

But it wouldn't matter; he'd never be in the position to make an introduction between Sookie and his father. He'd have to hide any relationship he had with her. What if she thought that was because he was ashamed of her? What if she grew to resent him? What if she grew to hate him for being a coward?

Eric closed his eyes as tight as he could, but even behind his dark sunglasses, the sunlight still burned into him.

His father had been right about him. Here he was with a woman he could love, and he _couldn't_ fight for her—couldn't give her what she deserved. He felt deflated and worthless. Afraid.

If he'd had an ounce of honor, he would have told her goodbye and left her with Ben.

Ben would have taken care of her and made sure she'd gotten home safely. Ben would have continued to watch over her at the MET as he'd done for more than a year.

Eric sighed, his breath feeling ragged in his chest. Yes. His father was right about him. He was a plague. And yes. If he had any decency, he would have already freed Sookie—freed her from the hurt and the pain that always followed him.

But he hadn't done that. He'd tried to pretend that things were "okay."

After they'd left the MET for lunch, he'd attempted to distract Sookie and himself from his darkening mood by showing her Bridge No. 24, which was his favorite structure in the park, but even the bridge had reminded him of his lack of courage. Making such constructions had once been his dream, but he'd given up that dream without a fight. And now—when he made something with his hands—he did it only in his morfar's old workshop, scared to build anything in the light of day.

None of his pieces had ever been signed. And no one—except for Mormor—knew that they were his.

In truth, Eric had given up every dream he'd ever had for himself—and then he'd stopped dreaming altogether—as he'd followed his father's prescription for his life like a dog begging to be patted on the back.

But the dog had been kicked instead of petted.

Instead of giving him acceptance, Appius had used a litany of other words to describe Eric; worthless, "good-for-nothing," "useless," "inadequate," "burdensome," and "pathetic" were just a few. All of those words flowed through Eric's brain like lava as he watched the sea of people on the Great Lawn. They all looked happy, basking in the warm New York sunshine.

He felt unworthy to be in the same place as they were—and especially undeserving to be sitting next to Sookie.

He closed his eyes even tighter, letting his memories take him away from the smiling people around him. He felt five years old again—frightened and confused. Learning what it felt like to be unloved for the first time.

On August 19, 1987—just two months after his mother had died—he'd been shipped to the Murray Academy near Gloucester, Massachusetts; there he'd stayed from kindergarten to eighth grade. His father had had to pay more—_a lot_ more—so that Eric could live at the school from kindergarten to second grade since Murray accepted boarders only from the third grade up.

But Appius's money could—apparently—accomplish anything. And Appius was insistent that Eric be sent away and stay away. Eric couldn't remember many specifics from that time, but he did recall how it felt to be sitting in the back of a limousine on his way to the school.

He'd wet his pants because of both fear and the fact that the driver had been told not to stop until they were at Murray. He'd received a three page, typed written reprimand from his father because of it. It had taken him months to be able to read and understand it all. He still had it.

Predictably, Eric had felt isolated at Murray from the start. He was only five when he moved there, compared to the other boarders at Murray, the youngest of whom were eight. To make his isolation even more acute, he'd been given a room at the end of a hall, and unlike the others at school, Eric didn't have a roommate. He eventually discovered that Appius had insisted upon this, claiming that it was because Eric was younger than the other boarders. Later, Appius had paid extra to make sure that Eric was never given a roommate.

At Murray, Eric had worked very hard to excel in both academics and athletics because he'd been afraid not to—afraid of causing his father further disappointment. He was moved to Exeter Academy for ninth to twelfth grade, and he continued to excel there.

He joined every club his father told him to join. And—again without questioning or fight—he gave up anything that his father didn't like, which included anything that Eric truly enjoyed doing. Eventually, Eric had stopped letting himself enjoy things. He would numb himself to what could have been a good experience for fear that it would be the next thing to be taken.

It was always a given to Appius Northman that Eric would go into business, even though Eric's aptitudes and interests had leaned more toward mathematics and architecture. However, Eric put his preferences to the side and worked twice as hard to shine in the things his father approved of—not that Eric himself ever received any of that approval.

Eric had dared to mention his own interests to Appius only once. During his junior year as an undergraduate at Harvard, Appius had noticed that Eric had taken a few classes that were "not part of the plan." Eric had tried to calmly tell Appius that he was getting a double major in Business and Architecture. Needless to say, Appius had not approved of Eric's "waste of time."

That conversation had taken place on Christmas day during their annual meeting.

At first, Appius had laughed off Eric's "little hobby" and had ordered him to drop the second major. About to turn 21, which was when he would gain access to his inheritance from his grandfather John Northman, Eric had tried to stand up for himself. He'd promised his father that the second major wouldn't interfere with his grades or the timeline Appius had laid out for Eric to get his business degree. When the young man had persisted, Appius had moved on to coercion.

One thing that Eric had learned that day was that Appius knew just what to threaten in order to make him comply. He'd started with Pam.

At 18 at the time, Pam was still in prep school; she was going to be going to Stanford the next year, and it was all that she'd been able to talk about in her letters for months. Appius threatened to cut her off without a penny—to leave her on Eric's doorstep to deal with. And—though Eric would have been able to afford to pay for Pam's education with his inheritance—Appius had made it _crystal_ clear that he had friends on the board of trustees at Stanford and that Pam would never set foot on that campus if Eric didn't do what was expected of him.

Appius had also claimed that he knew people at Harvard—people who could make sure that Eric got thrown out of the college. He said that it wouldn't be difficult at all to "produce" evidence indicating that Eric had cheated on his SATs to get into the prestigious university.

Appius's next threat had been to take away Eric's ability to see his siblings. He reminded Eric that he was only in the house that day—Christmas Day—because of Appius's "tolerance." He reminded Eric that he didn't have to let him have access to his siblings at all.

And finally Appius had taken advantage of the one thing that Eric had always wanted most—his father's love. Appius swore that he would never see or speak to Eric again if he went forward with his "juvenile" plans. He placed guilt on the 19-year-old's shoulders by speaking of family legacies and his mother's dying wishes that both of her children be a part of Northman Publishing. He reminded Eric that he was the only one who could bring together Northman Publishing and Larsson Publishing, which had been his morfar's company.

Eric had tried one last time to argue that his having a second major wouldn't affect any of Appius's plans for him. But Appius had dismissed Eric's reasoning and had insisted that "distractions" would only make Eric "weaker than he already was."

Eric had caved. In the end, his interest in architecture just wasn't worth Pam being hurt. Architecture wasn't—after all—something that Eric could pursue outside of college anyway.

The biggest secret he'd ever kept from his father was that he hadn't given up his interest in architecture and construction altogether. He would sit in on the larger architecture lectures at Harvard, and then—later—he found a couple of professors who let him audit their classes off the record.

Eric couldn't help but to wish that his 20-year-old self would have just told his father to fuck off—to call his bluff. Surely Appius wouldn't have cut off Pam—would he have? And even if Appius's influence at Harvard was as great as he claimed, surely Eric could have gotten into another school, maybe even in Sweden. But Eric had been frightened by his father's threats. Plus, he had wanted Appius's approval so badly that he'd never really questioned him again—not until the Freyda situation, at least. And—if Eric was being honest with himself—the only thing that had given him the courage to go against his father then had been the contract between them, the same contract that had now become his bane.

Eric sighed. After that tiny "rebellion" regarding his interest in architecture, he had fallen back into line and had stayed there for the most part. And now his future seemed locked because of the contract. He simply didn't have it in him to fight against Appius Northman. Plus—as loathe as Eric was to admit it—he still craved his father's approbation.

Eric's thoughts were stopped short as he saw a father—a man about his own age, maybe younger—playing catch with two children, a boy and a girl. As Eric looked at the smiling family, he realized once more that he didn't deserve Sookie—that he would just hold her back from finding a man like the one he was looking at.

And—for the life of him—Eric couldn't think of a single reason why Sookie would want him—why she'd choose to be with him, even for a day.

He had money, but she wasn't interested in that. He was good-looking, but she wasn't concerned with that either—at least not beyond normal attraction. He had _nothing_ to offer her other than his heart. But what was that worth? He was offering her only a fifth of a life with a man that was so unworthy that his own father despised him.

She deserved more.

Eric shook his head a little. He was a good business man, and nothing about the "deal" he was offering Sookie seemed appealing in the least.

He thought back to the words that his father had spoken to him just that Friday when they were finishing up a meeting: "I don't know how I even tolerate you," Appius had said as he'd looked at Eric with judgment in his eyes. "The only thing you've never failed at is being a disappointment to me."

Eric glanced at Sookie and saw that she was looking at him, though he couldn't see her eyes behind her sunglasses. Suddenly, he feared that her eyes were judging him—that they were disappointed in the man that he was and in the lackluster offer he'd made to her. His own sunglasses were in his hand, as he'd been absentmindedly cleaning them.

He managed to give Sookie a little smile as he put them back on. If he were a good man—if he were a _selfless_ man—he'd get up and leave Sookie Stackhouse in peace. He would do what was best for her and not himself.

He _had_ to do what was best for her.

He looked back at the father with his two children and followed the progress of the little boy as he ran to a woman who was sitting on a blanket and reading a book. The woman smiled at that boy and gave him a drink of what looked like juice before sending him back out to play.

"Sookie," Eric said quietly, "I can't do this to you." He looked back at her. "I can't hurt you like this. You deserve a man who will give you a _whole_ life. You deserve a _good_ man." He paused. "I'm not that man."

He went to stand up, but her hand stopped him. "You _are_ a good man, Eric Northman."

"No," he said in a sob, though his sunglasses hid the moisture in his eyes. "I'm a selfish bastard. I should have never spoken to you, Sookie. If I were a good man, I would have stayed away from you."

He tried to get up again, but was surprised once more when her grip kept him from rising. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to get up. Either way, he stayed on his knees.

"I didn't want you to stay away," she said as she pulled him so that he was sitting again. "And I don't want you to go away now."

"You don't?" he asked as a tear dripped past the perimeter of his sunglasses.

"Eric," she said quietly, but with certainty in her voice as she brought her hand up to his cheek, "I want to be with you for as long as I can be."

"It's not enough. I'm not enough," he said with resignation, shaking his head even as he leaned into her touch.

"People usually don't know when a relationship will end when it starts, but you and I do. And that _does_ suck, but it's not just unfair to me. It's not fair to you either."

"Sookie, I can't," he started.

"Eric," she interrupted with a hand over his mouth, "Having _something_ is better than having _nothing_—isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered in a tortured voice as she moved her hand back to his cheek.

"So you and I will hold onto each other for as long as we can," she said matter-of-factly. "Maybe we can fit a lifetime of happiness into just a few years. Eric, I want to try; we both need to try."

"It's not fair to you," Eric said again, shaking his head.

"It's not fair to you either," she repeated, taking his hand.

"Don't you see?" he whispered with desperation in his voice. "I'm like poison, and being with me will only hurt you."

"No," she said fiercely. "No, Eric. I don't know why you feel that way yet. But you aren't poison. And—even if you were—you'd be a poison that I want."

"I'll hurt you," Eric said sadly. "I've _already_ hurt you."

"You'll never hurt me," she said, caressing his cheek even as she squeezed his hand. "A situation may hurt me. _You._ Never. Will."

"Sookie," he said shaking his head. Words wouldn't quite come to his lips as two parts of him warred: the part that desperately wanted to find a measure of happiness and the part that didn't think he deserved to find any.

"You don't get to decide for me, Eric," Sookie said. "I deserve happiness too—you know."

Another tear dropped past his sunglasses.

"_You_ are my happiness, Eric Northman. And I _won't_ let you take it away from me. I want _you_," she added staunchly—stubbornly even.

"You _want_ me?" he asked in a whimper.

"Of course I do," she said, a tear falling past her sunglasses too. "From the first moment I saw you, I've wanted you."

The two stared at each other quietly for a moment, each coming to terms with the words she'd spoken. Her expression was one of certainty. His was one of shock.

"Sookie," he said finally, "I need to see your eyes."

She nodded and took her sunglasses off, wiping away an errant tear as she did. He gasped when he saw the conviction and faith in her eyes.

He stared at her in disbelief. "You're really going to do this with me?"

"Yes," she said sincerely before her lips turned up a bit playfully. "Who knows? I might get tired of you after a week? Or you might get tired of being with only one woman?"

"I won't get tired of you, Sookie Stackhouse," he said genuinely, sliding toward her on the blanket and kissing her gently—chastely.

"I'm glad," she said, taking off his sunglasses so that she could make sure his eyes were no longer holding the kind of heartache she'd seen in them minutes before. They weren't.

Now, there was a lightness in them, and Sookie knew that it was because of her. She liked that she'd put it there.

This time, she leaned in and initiated their kiss. It was soft and unheated. In it was acceptance of what they hoped to find together—for as long as they could.

* * *

**A/N: Well—I hope that you liked it! Sorry again for the wait. I'll try to post the next one sooner. **

**My WordPress site (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com) has pictures of the Central Park landmarks mentioned in the chapter.  
**

**Next up: Is anyone else in the mood for an awkward sex talk? **

**XOXOXO,**

**Kat**


	28. Chapter 28: Looking Forward

**A/N:** Hey all. A rant is coming. So feel free to skip to the chapter.

First, let me just admit to everyone that I make mistakes sometimes. Even though I edit as carefully as I can, I still overlook errors at times. And—I admit that sometimes I screw up words, "heal" when I mean "heel"—stuff like that. I don't have beta readers (because editing is such an important part of my own writing process). I certainly don't intend to make mistakes, and I want to remind that even professional authors and academics have copy editors when they publish.

I'm saying all of this to encourage (or to try to encourage) the person who created the bogus email address, "annoyedatwastingsomucofmytimeonthiscrap at hotmail . com," (in order to point out errors—as well as all of my other perceived character flaws) to stop "wasting so much of [your] time on this crap." (Hopefully, you already have.) Yes, I understand that my use of "tenant" when I meant "tenet" was an error, and I'm sorry if that mistake made you question the entire educational system. I'm also sorry that you feel that my work is long-winded and that "the concepts of both brevity and editing appear to elude" me.

To my fans that like my work—I do apologize for the occasional error, but I disagree with the notion that my work is a "mess" that is "littered" with "many errors." I don't mind my fans pointing out my errors to me either, for they always do it as part of a useful (or nice) comment about my work in general. To them, I offer my gratitude and love.

To those who just like to be mean, I'd like to invite you to stop reading. My stories obviously aren't to your liking, so just stop. I'd also like to tell you that I'm sorry my work isn't appealing to you. I'd love to be able to please everyone, but—take it from my husband—I can't even please the person that I love most in this world all of the time. You can imagine how little I care about people who are willing to be bullies. In short, no one is forcing anyone to continue reading my "dross."

If you do continue, I can only warn that there will be more of the same. I'm not going to change my writing style or process or content for you. I think there's a difference between being wordy and telling a long story that explores the inner workings of characters. And I won't apologize for writing the story I want to write. After all, it's a win-win situation for all. I get to write something I like. My fans get to read something they like for free. And you can click onto another website while feeling superior to me in every way. See? We all get something out of the arrangement.

Sadly, I'm sure that there will also be more typos and other errors (unintentional, but pretty much unavoidable—any author would tell you the same). In fact, I'd wager that between this rant and the twelve-page chapter that follows, you will find a couple of unintentional mistakes—despiite thu fact I hve edeted both a couples of time. (In case you missed it, those were intentional.)

You implied, among other things, that I was stealing your life with my crappy stories. I hope you have already realized the irony that you were choosing to read the thing you found so abhorrent AND then choosing to create a fake email account AND then choosing to type a rant. (Your message contained a typo, by the way. "Where" should have been "were.") From my perspective, you are stealing your own life by making such efforts with your time. Of course, your efforts might simply be geared toward making me feel bad—to causing another person pain from the safety of your anonymity. If that's the case, then your implication that my "obsession" with abuse makes me a candidate for therapy should have been spoken while you were looking in the mirror. I do have to say "thanks" for your message though. That typo, which occurred in the sentence right before you "kindly" pointed out my errors, made me giggle-snort. (Perhaps, however, you were being ironic.)

Now—on with the next long-winded chapter. ;)

* * *

**Chapter 28: Looking Forward**

"Well?" Eric asked giving Sookie a mischievous look.

She chuckled. "Why do you think I picked this one?" she asked, looking at the folio from _The Book of Kings_ that Eric was pointing to.

"The subject matter," he responded, his lips turning up into a grin that wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

Sookie took a moment to appreciate the beauty of that smile—the ease of it.

"Chess?" she asked, also smiling.

He nodded. "It's a guess—really. I'm almost certain that you're going to pick something from this book, but I'm not sure which folio."

"What about you?" she asked, looking around the room and then back at him. "Although you beat me at chess yesterday, I don't think _this_ is the piece you're drawn to—is it?"

He shook his head.

"So—what's your favorite?" she pressed.

"I'm still thinking about it," he responded, keeping his gaze fixed on hers.

"You're lying," she challenged.

He chuckled and nodded. "Yes. But—how about I tell you my favorite another time?"

Her eyes took themselves to the Mihrab. When she looked back at him in question, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod. She frowned.

"Can I tell you _why_ it's my favorite another time?" he asked quietly—gently.

"Okay," she said in barely a whisper.

"Thanks," he reponded, giving her a quick kiss on her forehead.

"For what?"

"There's too much to list," he said, smiling again. "_And_ I'm anxious to find out if I'm right about your choice."

She smiled. "Well—you were close, _but_," she paused dramatically, "no cigar."

"Darn," he chuckled. "You were right. I _did_ pick this one because I beat you at chess yesterday," Eric said with a wink as he looked down at the manuscript page again. He read the label aloud, "Buzurgmihr _Masters_ the Game of Chess."

"I don't know who Buzurgmihr is," Sookie reported, her face scrunching up a bit as she read the unfamiliar name.

"Me neither," Eric responded.

She winked at him. "And I'm not sure you can claim that you've _mastered_ chess."

"Me neither," he repeated with a chuckle.

"Now—if it had been called "Buzurgmihr Masters the Game of _Scrabble_," her voice trailed off as she smiled at him playfully.

He chuckled a little louder. "You should be aware that I ordered _both_ Scrabble and Chess today. And Monopoly. And Trivial Pursuit. And Clue. And Battleship."

"When?" she asked with a laugh.

"While you were in the ladies' room. After lunch."

She grinned a little wider. "No—when will they be here?"

"Anxious for a rematch?" he asked, stepping closer and taking her hand, which was already poised for his.

She nodded. "Yeah—it was fun."

"Playing or winning?" he asked.

"Hey—you won one of the games too," she reminded.

"I remember. I had fun too."

"Playing or winning?" she asked impishly.

"Both," he replied honestly.

"Me too," she smiled.

"So—if you didn't pick the folio about chess, which one did you choose?" he asked, his eyebrow rising.

She pointed to a folio near the one they'd been discussing.

He grinned. "I knew you'd choose something from the _Shahnama_. Eric read the caption next to the folio Sookie was indicating. "'The Funeral of Isfandiyar.' Why this one?" he asked, tensing up a little. "The subject matter is a little," he paused.

"Morbid?" she offered.

He nodded.

Sookie shrugged. "It's weird, but I always kind of liked funerals. Most people say nice things at them—'Sorry for your loss' or 'He was a good man.' Stuff like that. Or they share nice stories about people's lives at them. My mom always wanted me to use my lip-reading to find out gossip about people, but after funerals, I'd just tell her the stories I'd 'heard'; it never took her long to get bored with them and leave me alone." She smiled sadly. "At my dad's funeral, I watched two of his old teachers share stories about him. Before that, I hadn't known that he won an essay contest for a paper on _Hamlet_ or that his best subject was math or that he rode a motorcycle."

"I've never been to a funeral," Eric said quietly as he looked at the vibrant manuscript page.

"But your mom. Your grandfather. Your morfar," Sookie said in a whisper.

Eric closed his eyes. "Morfar died during the middle of a school term, and my father refused to give me permission to go. I wasn't allowed to go to my grandfather John's funeral either, even though I was called to attend the reading of his Will."

"Your mother's?"

He shrugged. "I'm pretty sure that Pam and I didn't go because people thought we were too young. I can't be sure." He opened his eyes. "And my father threatened to take Pam's division away from her if I went to Godric's funeral a few years ago. I still haven't forgiven myself for not being there for Bobby," he sighed.

Sookie took a step toward him and laid her cheek on his chest, listening to his heart. She had come to love its strong, steady beat in the time they'd spent together.

"From what you've told me of Bobby," she said softly, "he knew you were there—even if you weren't."

Eric tightened his arms around her.

"A funeral doesn't have to be a bad thing," she whispered. "It can be about beginnings, just as much as endings. I feel like that little girl who grew up so sad and hopeless and lonely in Bon Temps is all but dead now."

Eric pulled away a little so that he could look at her eyes. "What killed her?"

She smiled up at him. "I did. But you helped."

"How?" he asked.

"This," she said, putting her hand over his heart.

"This," he corrected, laying his own hand gently onto her heart.

The noise from a group of tourists interrupted their quiet moment.

Sookie took out her phone and snapped her picture of the folio page.

She smiled up at him. "It's funny, but I'm looking forward to things now," Sookie said, sounding a little surprised.

Eric nodded. "Me too."

"I can't say I've ever done that before."

"Me neither," he offered. "What are you looking forward to?"

"One thousand three hundred and twenty," she smiled.

"Days?"

She nodded. "Give or take. I didn't inherit my dad's love of math, I'm afraid; it always gave me a headache."

He chuckled. "Days when we can share breakfasts," he said.

"Lots of Sunday trips to the MET," she offered.

"Beating you at Scrabble."

She snickered. "Beating you at Chess."

He pulled her closer again. "Holding you."

"Talking together."

"Reading together."

"Snuggling together," she sighed.

"I like that one," he murmured, kissing her hair.

"Shit!" she exclaimed loudly, even as she pulled out of his arms.

He looked dumbfounded at her sudden change of mood. "What? What's wrong?"

"Sex!" she said, still too loudly.

The group of tourists looked disapprovingly at the couple; one even went so far as to "shush" them.

As soon as she realized she'd basically yelled the word "sex," Sookie glowed red. Eric turned them so that his back was to the tourists and he was concealing Sookie's body from them.

He whispered. "Sex? Are you—um? I mean—we don't have to do anything—um—right away. We can wait until you're comfortable."

"No!" she cried immediately and loudly. She laughed nervously as they were "shushed" again. "I don't want to wait," she added in a whisper. "It's just that—um—it's been a while."

"You don't want to wait?" he asked, looking for confirmation—and suddenly looking a little nervous himself.

She shook her head.

"So—um—tonight?" he asked hopefully.

Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip. "If you—uh—want. I mean, we don't have to do," she started.

"No!" he exclaimed. It was his turn to get "shushed."

"No?" she asked.

"I mean—yes?" he said, looking confused.

"Yes?"

He took a breath. "I mean I don't want to wait either."

She smiled, but then frowned. "Would you mind if I—uh—called Claudine?"

"Claudine? Why?" he asked, confused again.

She let out a nervous laugh. "Because I'm freaking out a little, and I—uh—well, I don't want to wait until my session with her on Tuesday to talk about it."

"Oh—um—sure," Eric said, looking around them and noticing that they were alone in the room again.

"Thanks," Sookie said, looking relieved.

"I'll just go say goodbye to Ben and meet you by the entrance?" Eric questioned.

Sookie nodded.

He bent down and kissed her chastely on the lips. "I meant what I said," he whispered. "I'd be willing to wait until you aren't freaked out."

She went back to biting her lip. "Thanks. But I really don't want to wait," she said, blushing again. "I just need to—um," she paused, "talk to a therapist _and_ a woman."

He chuckled. "Claudine's a good choice then. I'll be waiting by the entrance once you're done with your call."

Sookie nodded.

* * *

Eric felt a rush of anxiety mixed with anticipation as Sookie came into sight. She looked a little flushed, but much calmer than she had been when he left her in Gallery 455.

"Good call?" he asked, as she laced her fingers into his.

"Yeah. But she—um—gave me some topics we should discuss before we—uh," she paused. "I wrote them down."

"Okay," Eric said simply.

"Okay?" Sookie asked.

He nodded. "How about we walk through the park and then get some dinner? And—uh—do you want to come home with me tonight? Or we could go back to Brooklyn?"

"I was hoping we could go to your place. Amelia's—uh—coming home today. And—uh—it'd be good if it was just," she paused, "us—I think."

He smiled. "Okay. I've been anxious to show you my place anyway."

"We could have gone earlier in the week," Sookie said, still biting her lip nervously.

He shrugged. "I was happy to be in our bubble for the week."

She smiled and relaxed a little. "Me too."

So—we'll wait until we get to my place to talk about Claudine's topics. And then we'll go from there? Sound like a plan?" he asked.

She blushed. "Yep."

Eric and Sookie left the museum after exchanging waves with Milos and Jack. Unlike the week before, Eric led them across the park in a more direct path so that they'd emerge on Central Park West at 81st Street.

By the time they were halfway across the park, Eric's own nervousness had begun to rise. Actually, he felt a little like he had when he was sixteen years old and about to lose his virginity. Yvetta had been an eighteen-year-old exchange student from Russia, and she had seemed like the most exciting thing in the world to him. He'd lasted for about sixty seconds inside of her before he filled the condom. And—to last that long—he'd been trying to picture Rosanne Barr in the movie _She Devil_, particularly the part where the camera showed an extreme close-up of her mole. Her large, _hairy_ mole.

It hadn't taken Eric long to realize that Yvetta had sought him out in hopes that he'd spend a lot of money on her. However, Yvetta had been an "instructive" first lover in that she'd given him a crash-course on "getting her off" with his fingers and tongue while they'd waited the ten minutes it had taken for Eric to get hard again. He'd lasted five minutes his second time.

After it was over, Yvetta asked him to take her out to a fancy restaurant. She'd been horrified when he told her that he didn't receive an allowance—let alone a four-figure one like many of the others at his school did. She'd left his room in a frustrated huff, complaining about his inexperience and cursing in Russian. By the next week, she was sleeping with someone else and wearing a new diamond tennis bracelet. The week after that, another boy and another piece of jewelry clung to her body.

Eric had learned two important lessons from his interactions with Yvetta. First, he'd learned that sex—even with someone he didn't really like—was enjoyable. So he'd endeavored to have more of it. Second, he'd learned that it was best to be upfront about what he could and couldn't offer. Luckily, there was not a shortage of girls who were willing to accept casual sex with him. They enjoyed his body and his discretion. In turn, he enjoyed the distraction and release they could give him.

Over the years, Eric had acquired control as he worked to make sure his sex partners received pleasure before he took his own. And other than from Yvetta and Nora, he was proud to say that he'd had no complaints about his stamina.

Yes. He'd learned how to deliver physical pleasure to his partners. And he'd been happy to receive pleasure in return. However, the women he'd been with before were interchangeable for the most part.

By contrast, the emotional connection he shared with Sookie was something foreign to him. He cared for her—more than just _cared_, actually. And when his physical attraction—an attraction that eclipsed anything he'd ever felt before—was factored into the equation, it was no wonder that he was nervous.

Instinctively, he knew that having sex with Sookie would be better than any physical pleasure he'd ever experienced before. Therefore, he was worried that he might lose "it" once he was finally inside of her. And he was pretty sure that picturing Rosanne wouldn't even do the trick.

Yes. He was definitely feeling a little stage fright about the prospect of being with Sookie.

He took a shaky breath; failing to satisfy Sookie sexually was the last thing he wanted to do. He knew that he'd be only her second partner, and although she'd not yet told him everything there was to know about her relationship with Bill Compton, Eric could tell that Sookie's pleasure had _not_ been at the top of the man's list of priorities.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Sookie asked, breaking into his reverie as they passed just north of the Delacorte Theater.

He chuckled. "You probably don't want to know."

She looked up at him and smiled. "And what if I do?"

"Then, I'll tell you, and you'll blush." He chuckled again. "Or _I'll_ blush. Probably both of us."

"You? Blush?"

"Hey—I've been known to blush," he said, swinging their connected hands playfully.

"When?" she asked, truly curious.

"Fourth grade choir performance—zipper down in front of the whole school."

She laughed.

"Eleventh grade debate team—zipper down in front of the Supreme Court."

"What? Really?" she exclaimed.

"Yep," he said, cringing a little at the memory. "My school's team won a national contest, and we got to present in front of the Supreme Court Justices. In the pictures I saw later, my tighty whities were," he paused, "_prominent_."

She grinned. "Do all of your embarrassing moments involve your zipper being down?"

At that question, he laughed heartily. He realized he'd not ever laughed like that before—so free. It felt good. Strange—but really good.

"What's so funny?" she asked with a giggle of her own.

"Actually—most of my embarrassing moments _do_ involve my zipper being down," he responded. "I was just thinking about what a disaster I was the first time I had sex with someone. And," he paused, his cheeks pinking up, "I have to admit to a little performance anxiety about—uh—tonight."

She stopped in her tracks, halting him too. Her eyebrows shot up almost comically, and she started and stopped speaking several times. She, of course, was blushing even more than he was by that point. "You? You're nervous?"

He shrugged and nodded. "I can't help it. I want you to," he paused, "enjoy yourself."

Sookie squeezed his hand and chewed her lip. "And I want you to enjoy yourself." Her blush became impossibly redder, traveling all the way down her throat and disappearing under the top of her dress. Eric couldn't help but to follow its heated path.

As he felt himself grow a little hard—a signal that didn't bode well for his self-control—she stammered on, "I'm afraid—uh—I won't have the—uh—experience the—uh—other girls you've been with have had. What if I—um—bore you?"

He quickly pulled her into his arms. "Not possible," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"So we're _both_ nervous about tonight?" Sookie asked after a few moments, still obviously surprised by Eric's confession.

"So it seems."

"Good," she said smiling up at him. "That actually makes me feel better."

"Me too," he chuckled as they started walking again, hands still joined and swinging once more.

"So—um—do you mind if we go to that sushi place again for dinner?" Sookie asked after a few minutes.

Eric chuckled. "I think I've created a sushi monster."

She giggled. "I think you're right. I've been craving it since the day after we had it."

"Then sushi it is," Eric agreed. "In truth, I've been craving it too. I usually go there a couple of times a week."

"So we're both sushi fiends?"

"Looks like it," he chuckled.

As they emerged from the park, Sookie looked to her left and took in the impressive architecture of the American Museum of Natural History. She sighed. "I like how the MET and the natural history museum flank the park on either side."

"Have you been there?" Eric asked.

"Once," she responded. "I prefer art to natural history; however, we should think about going there if we run out of MET galleries to explore."

"_We_," he whispered aloud, but seemingly to himself.

"Or we could try the Guggenheim or the Museum of Modern Art. And then there are always new exhibitions at the MET. And the MET galleries you haven't been to. I wouldn't mind going back to those."

"Sounds good," Eric said, his voice a little thick.

"Which one?"

"All," he said. "Especially the _we_ part."

Sookie looked up at him. "Something to look forward to?"

He nodded as he turned them up the street toward the restaurant.

He inhaled deeply. The air was still warm as the afternoon turned to evening, but there was a slight breeze, despite the fact that the tall buildings of New York were serving as wind blocks. He caught the scent of flowers blooming in the park, and he smiled at the gentle fragrance, even as he thought about all the things that he was looking forward to because of the woman whose hand was swinging gently with his.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you liked this chapter. I overhauled it yesterday since it had been told as a remembered event rather than in "real time." The dialogue is basically all new, but I'm happier with the chapter now, so I'm glad I redid it.**

**Remember that you can find pictures of the art and many of the places referenced on my WordPress site (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com).**

**Thanks for the comments about the last chapter! I continue to be floored by how many people support this story and me in general. You make it easier to withstand people who try to use anonymous comments as bullying opportunities. My fans are why I post my stories. You are appreciated and loved!**

**Until next time,**

**Kat**


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